


Unchangeable

by HunterPeverell



Series: Unchangeable 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Broken Sam Winchester, Dark Thoughts, Demon Dean Winchester, Do over - Freeform, Episode: s04e01 Lazarus Rising, Fallen Castiel, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Mind Swap, Post-Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe In Miracles?, Redemption, Season 9, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1792738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterPeverell/pseuds/HunterPeverell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was left reeling after he saw Dean disappear with Crowley. Unsure of what to do, he called Cas. But before Cas reached him, Sam woke up . . . in bed with Ruby. The year is not 2014, but 2008. Sam can now change the future--but will he tell Dean?</p><p> </p><p>  <i>This was his body from five years ago. Ruby was alive. Sam bet if he looked around more he’d find all of his old clothes and his old phone and . . . Bobby was alive. Ellen, Jo, Anna, Gabriel, Dean was young, Cas was sane . . .</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i> He was five years in the past, and his body was five years younger.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i> Sam rested his head on the dull white tiles. “I’m so screwed,” he sighed.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Life Ain't No Love Song

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: **SPOILERS FOR SEASON 9 FINALE!** This is the opening episode of Season 4 of Supernatural and after the season 9 finale (So I guess it’s the limbo between season 9 and 10). Season 9/10 Sam knows that Dean is a demon, and has called Cas down to help him track Dean and Crowley. I think that’s all you guys need to know as we get the show rolling.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the moon (I won't sell you my soul, Crowley) and I also do not own these characters or plot. I'm merely borrowing the characters so that I may rip holes in the old plot. It is not to be taken seriously.
> 
> Chapter title taken from 'Black Eyes' by Radical Face.

_“There are no second chances in life, except to feel remorse.”_ —Carlos Ruiz Zafón 

When Sam woke up, he didn’t know where he was. 

It was a motel, but hadn’t he gone to sleep in his room in the Bunker? Well, he said sleep—collapsed on his bed in exhaustion was more like it. It had, nevertheless, been in the Bunker. The bed he was currently resting on was lumpy and hard, the pillow flat and the blankets itchy. It was nothing like his other bed which, while not like Dean's "Memory Foam" was comfortable and serviceable and not like the beds he spent most of his hunting life camped out on. Sam opened his eyes, looking around without moving his head. The ceiling was unfamiliar, and it looked (and felt and smelled) an awful lot like the cheap motel rooms he and Dean used to stay in before they found the Bunker. Sam breathed in quietly and evenly, suddenly aware of another person lying next to him. They seemed to be asleep, so Sam stayed still so that they did not wake. 

Something about the room-that-was-not-his looked familiar, like he’d known it once, long ago. He closed his eyes and searched his memories, sorting through the real ones and the fake ones from when he had Satan riding shot gun. Gadreel may have possessed him and done horrible things with his body, but he had helped Sam, and sorting through his memories was one thing he had done for Sam. He'd just come to remember a motel like this one he'd stayed at when Dean was in Hell when the body moved next to him. Thinking now was as good a time as ever to 'wake up', Sam changed his breathing patterns (something he'd learned to do when he was soulless, to not only put Dean at ease, but to avoid attention from Samuel and the rest of the Campbell's) and fluttered his eyes open. Barely breathing he glanced over and saw an old, hated face peacefully looking at him. 

“Morning,” Ruby smiled, her eyes hard and cruel. Sam was up and rolling away, terror rippling through him. _What the hell?_ He frantically thought. _Ruby died five years ago! I saw her die._ For the demon to be here now . . . something was very, very wrong. Perhaps a trick from Crowley?

“Sam?” Ruby asked, propping herself up on one arm, bare skin tacky with dried sweat.

“Ruby,” Sam managed around a numb tongue. His voice came out softer than he was used to, different in a way it hadn’t been when he went to sleep. He quickly slipped out of the bed and stood beside it, looking down at the demon.

“Yeah, Sam.” Ruby said, twisting her tone into some semblance of gentleness. “You dream about Dean again?”

Sam forced himself to nod. Ruby’s tangled dark hair was pushed impatiently behind her ear as the demon looked at Sam in carefully concealed annoyance. It may have been enough to fool his past self, but now Sam could see clearly. There was no demon blood poisoning his veins, and none of her lies had been whispered softly in his ear for a _very_ long time. His mind was racing and he started backing away, the barb about Dean barely registering.

“I’m gonna grab a shower.” He stuttered.

“Want me to join you?” Ruby said playfully.

“No.” Sam said quickly. “Need some time alone.”

Ruby nodded and fell back on the white sheets. “Hurry up then.” She called as Sam retreated to the bathroom. “We’ve got work to do.”

Sam quickly shut the door. He shoved his clothes off and felt them catch on something. Dean’s necklace hung around his neck, and Sam reached up to hold it, cradling it softly. He’d grabbed it out of the trashcan Dean had thrown it in and buried it under Anna’s tree the next time he’d had a chance to leave for a day on a hunt. It was in a metal box, glued shut and the necklace itself was wrapped carefully in fabric. It was gone now. Dean had stopped unconsciously reaching for it in his sleep or on hunts, had stopped looking for it on his chest years ago. Sam shoved it in his pocket and let the jeans drop. He avoided looking at the mirror, wanting to clear his head before he started figuring out what had happened to him. He reached over and cranked the hot water up, standing under the scorching spray. His heart raced. He remembered this motel room. They went out, ganked a demon, and then that night . . .

Dean came back from Hell.

_Dean stood with Crowley as Sam burst in, the smell of sulfur coating the air heavily from the hallways. Crowley looked the same as he always did but Dean . . . Dean was alive, not dead. The blood was gone and he was alive. Sam barely had time to feel a wave of relief when he got a good glimpse of Dean’s face. More specifically, the black eyes._

_“Dean!” Sam shouted. “Wait!”_

_But Dean and the King had already disappeared . . ._

Sam blinked water out of his eyes and shook his head like a drunken dog, banishing the thoughts away. Ruby hadn’t reacted to his face earlier, though she should have if he looked the same as when he had gone to sleep. One does not simply wake up five years older and it not get mentioned. So Sam took inventory of his scars.

Over the years Cas had healed he and Dean after hunts. Eventually his old scars (and Dean’s) seemed to melt off. New ones had cropped up, of course, but the old ones were gone. Now there was a collage of familiar, half-forgotten scars plastered over his body.

A thin white one on his bicep where he’d slipped in a sparring match with Dean when Sam was twelve.

A ropy thick one on his thigh where a piece of glass had decided to make a home for itself when he was twenty three.

A small one across his knuckle where he’d scraped it fighting the shifter wearing his brother’s face.

Sam noted each and every one of these. This was his body from five years ago. Ruby was alive. Sam bet if he looked around more he’d find all of his old clothes and his old phone and . . . Bobby was alive. Ellen, Jo, Anna, Gabriel, Dean was young, Cas was sane . . .

He was five years in the past, and his body was five years younger.

Sam rested his head on the dull white tiles. “I’m so screwed.” He sighed.

***

Sam managed to convince Ruby to not make him use his powers on the demon. Instead he just exorcised it. He couldn’t tell Ruby (who thought he was so hyped up on her blood he couldn’t think straight, a notion he didn't want to dissuade her of just yet) that he couldn’t use his powers. Somehow, he wasn’t addicted anymore. Sam was thankful that that portion of his older self had hung around with his mind.

He could still remember it. The rage, the fear, the desperation. The thirst . . . the never ending, unquenchable thirst that nearly drove him mad with the dark evilness coursing through his veins and choking him, suffocation him . . .

The woman the demon had vacated was blubbering with hysteria, tears streaming down her face like melted stars.

Sam felt nervous; his mind not really on the job (demons, so easy from what they're used to hunting . . .) and all he could think about was the debate going on in his head.

Should he tell Dean?

He was walking a very fine line here. Dean is currently at Bobby’s, or driving here, more like it. He’d just escaped from Hell and is determined to see Sam and find out who raised him from Hell. Last time he’d found Sam, drugged out on demon blood, but ultimately glad to see him. Sam was extremely addicted at that point in time, and the joy in seeing Dean again was drowned out by the rage and hatred and thirst.

Dean also played the angel’s puppet this year.

One brother in Heaven, one brother in Hell.

Michael and Lucifer.

_“You were born for this, boys!”_ Gabriel’s voice taunted in his ear.

No, Sam suddenly decided, Dean wouldn’t know. Sam would make sure of that. Dean would never have to know. Sam could keep him safe. Sam was sane (relatively) and thinking clearly. He knew what was going to happen, who the players were, what the major hunts were.

He would never have to see Dean with those black eyes.

Dean would never have to face Lucifer, would never have to deal with his soulless self, would be blissfully unaware of the insanity Sam had endured after he retrieved his memories. Dean and Bobby and Cas would never have to work with Crowley, would never have to fight Eve or Dick or the angels. They wouldn’t die needlessly and bloodily. Their future could be brighter than Sam’s past.

But in order for that better future to happen, Sam had to deal with the Seals and Lilith. He didn’t know what the Seals were, but he knew the most important one . . . the last one. 

He remembered the consuming desire for Lilith’s death. The thought the burned its brand into his brain, ripping the soft tissue away until it reached his skull and became permanent.

Not this time around.

He wondered if there was a way to trap Lilith, make it so that she would never die, could never be found. He’d sneak off to the Bunker sometime, he decided as Ruby ordered pizza on the phone. He grabbed a white button shirt and put it on before going into the bathroom, intending to at least wipe the grime from his hands off before Dean showed up. Sam thought about the Dean from his time; the Dean who’d let an angel possess him and use him. Who had taken on the Mark of Cain without a second thought and was slowly turned into a monster, a demon like he had always feared he would become. Maybe this time travel would give Sam some time to cool down and figure out how to deal with Dean and Crowley and how to fix Dean.

Sam sighed and looked at his younger face in the mirror.

He loved Dean. He did. And if there was a way Sam could save him from death, if Dean wanted to be saved, then yes, Sam would save him. But Sam was ready and willing to die and had made peace with it and Dean had dragged him back. Why couldn’t Dean see what Sam was trying to do? Sam understood that they were co-dependent. Unhealthily co-dependent. But he was willing to let Dean die if that’s what Dean wanted . . . he hadn’t called Crowley to bring Dean back. He’d called Crowley up to get Dean out of the mess he’d made. The Mark was evil, but Dean had deserved Heaven, not Hell. He would make sure that Dean was where he belonged, and not dragged down to Hell like Bobby had been. Dean would get his peace. Sam would be sure of that.

But Dean wasn’t dead. He wasn’t really alive, either. But he wasn’t _dead._ And that made the whole thing worse.

Sam shook his head. No, it’d be no use getting angry. The Dean that was coming now, in 2008, wouldn’t understand, would be confused. The Dean out there hadn’t done anything yet. 

Sam turned his thoughts away.

Ruby was another issue. She was useful and he could use her. The only problem would be managing her when it was clear he no longer wanted demon blood. How Sam could get around that, he didn’t know. He’d figure something out.

He heard Ruby moving around softly in the other room and nearly lashed out when she was suddenly right behind him.

“What is up with you, Sam?” She asked, worry planted deceivingly in her voice.

“I’m just tired.” Sam said. He was silent for a moment, trying to get into the one-track mindset he’d had. “It’s just . . .” He started, wondering if this is what his old self would have said. It’d been five years if you went by the date. It’d been over a thousand if you factored in the time he spent in Hell.

“It’s been four months.” He said finally, thinking Dean was always a safe road to go down with Ruby.

“I know,” Ruby said. “But if we find Lilith and kill her, maybe we can find a way to bring him back. It’s our only shot right now.”

How he’d clung to those words before. His only hope to retrieving the brother who’d gone to Hell for him.

“Maybe.” Sam allowed. There was a knock at the door and Ruby left. Sam leaned over the sink, hands braced on either side. He took a deep breath. Dean was on the other side of that door with Bobby. Dean was just starting to look at Sam with the slight hatred that would grow. Bobby was still alive . . . Sam could get through this. He could.

Briefly Sam wondered if his present/future brother’s mind had hijacked his present/past body (and damn that made his head hurt), but he knew, somehow, that it wasn’t true. He was alone.

Though, considering what Dean had become, that was actually looking to be a good thing.

He stepped into the room silently and looked on his much younger brother. His brother was looking at Ruby in confusion and Sam knew her well enough to see the tension in her shoulders. Dean’s gaze slid past Ruby and on to Sam.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said softly. Sam blinked away black eyes and an expression of hate and distaste. This Dean was not his Dean. Not yet. Hopefully not ever.

Sam steps forward to hug his brother before remembering that he’d attacked Dean. Right. It’d be weird if he didn’t.

So Sam lunged forwards, knife in hand from the waistband of his jeans in his fist, a snarl on his face.

“Who are you?” He shouted, slashing at Dean. Dean blocked his attacks easily, surprise (and relief) on his face.

“Like you didn't do this?” Dean replied, his voice higher than Sam remembered but still deep. Hell had done that, Sam thought. It had only got deeper the more they had lost.

“Do what?” He snapped back. Bobby grabbed him from behind and held back Sam’s half-hearted attempts to get at Dean.

“It's him. It's him. I've been through this already, it's _really_ him.” The older man growled in Sam’s ear. Sam slowly let himself stop, conscious of Ruby and Dean’s sharp gaze on his every move, assessing him.

“What?” Sam said, stopping completely and just looking at Dean. Young Dean without the scars. Young Dean who had only just started to hate himself with any of the depth he soon would. Young Dean, free of those horrible black eyes . . .

“I know. I look fantastic, huh?” Dean smirked slightly. Sam moved slowly forward, eyes on this young Dean, the Dean who hadn’t stood up to Lucifer yet, who hadn’t had to deal with his soulless self, who hadn’t had to deal with his insanity, who hadn’t yet killed Amy, and dealt with the illness of the Trials, who hadn’t lied to him about Gadreel. A Dean without the Mark of Cain. It was like a dream, half real to Sam as he continued forwards over the cluttered floor to reach his brother. A dream tinged with the darkness of the future—Sam’s past.

The hug he gave his older brother who was the same age Sam was in his 2014 body was completely genuine. Dean hugged him back without knowing what Sam is thinking, and Sam suddenly wanted him to _never_ know what he was thinking.

Sam will change the past if it’s the last thing he does.

“So are you two like . . . together?” Ruby asks and Sam marvels at her acting skills. She sounded like any old hooker who couldn’t really care less, but has been paid and is curious. “No,” Sam said looking at her and ignoring the shocked (and slightly amazed look) from Dean and Bobby. “No, he’s my brother.” Sam said. Ruby nods.

“Uh . . . got it. I . . . I guess. Look, I should probably go.” Ruby says and Sam thinks she hides her shock well.

“Good idea,” Sam says and Ruby grabs a blue shirt and shrugs it on.

“So, call me.” Ruby says. _I’ll call you_ was what she really meant.

“Sure thing, Kathy.” Sam says the name Ruby had ordered him to call her in public. _“I’m hunted just for helping you. Don’t call me Ruby . . . every demon out there knows that name.”_

“Kristy.” She said, pouting slightly. Sam’s mind blanked for a moment, wondering if he’d gotten the name wrong. But Ruby looked relieved and left, leaving Sam alone with Dean and Bobby. Dean had gravitated to the bed, sitting down primly and leveling the glare he’d gleamed from Alistair at Sam. Bobby stood worriedly in a corner.

“So tell me, what'd it cost?” Dean said at last when the door softly shut, like a servant who didn’t want to be noticed at all by its raging master.

“Nothing.” Sam said. “I didn’t bring you back, Dean.”

“It's not funny, Sam.” Dean snarled. “To bring me back. What'd it cost? Was it just your soul, or was it something worse?”

“You think I made a deal.” Sam said, feeling strangely detached from the conversation.

“That's exactly what we think.” Bobby said, staring at Sam. Sam suddenly became aware that the room was a mess and he himself looked like hell. Sam had slept terribly those four months, getting a few handfuls of hours on even fewer nights.

“I didn’t.” Sam said and suddenly hated the words that coated his mouth like cotton. He didn’t want to live this year again; hell he didn’t want to _live_ anymore. Ever since this year he’d wanted to die. Dean wouldn’t let him, and Sam wouldn’t make him. Sam didn’t want to do this. He just wanted it all to stop.

But he had a job to do. Keep Dean safe, alive. Keep Bobby and Cas and Anna and Ellen and Jo alive. Stop Ruby and Lilith and Heaven.

“Don’t lie to me.” Dean hissed. Sam wasn’t intimidated, wasn’t scared. He’d seen too much to be scared of this Dean, who wouldn’t think to hurt him badly if they fought.

“I’m not.” Sam said coldly.

“So what now, I'm off the hook and you're on, is that it?” Dean stood up, advancing on Sam who held his ground. “You're some demon's bitch-boy? I didn't want to be saved like this.”

“I didn’t do it.” Sam said. _Bitch-boy_ , he thought bitterly, _he doesn’t even know how right he is._

Dean grabbed his shirt, yanking Sam down to his level. “There's no other way that this could have gone down. Now tell the truth!”

_There are so many ways this could have gone down._ Sam wanted to say. So many creatures that could bring Dean back. Angels, demons, Death himself . . .

“I tried everything.” Sam said, pulling gently away from Dean’s grip. Dean was looking at him, fear etched into the lines on his face. “That's the truth. You were rotting in Hell for months and I couldn't stop it. No demons would deal, no reapers would help. I’m sorry Dean, but I didn’t do this.” Sam wished he had sold his soul. He’d be rotting down in Hell, dead and blissfully unaware of anything but torture and pain. And after the Cage even the mild torture they did in the highest levels of Hell would be easy. Sam could deal with pain. Pain was easy.

“It's okay, Sammy. You don't have to apologize, I believe you.” Dean said softly. Sam wondered if this was the last time Dean had looked at him with that amount of affection.

“Don't get me wrong,” Bobby cut in and Sam kept staring at Dean, memorizing the softness in his brother’s gaze. Dean looked away to Bobby and Sam closed his eyes for a moment, missing the warmth. “I'm gladdened that Sam's soul remains intact, but it does raise a sticky question.”

“If he didn't pull me out, then what did?” Dean said.

_Your best friend. Our best friend._ Sam wanted to say, wanted to have his Castiel, because this one wasn’t very nice and didn't like Sam and Sam missed the angel that had the ability to talk about the molecules in PB &J and light up at the thought of having a guinea pig.

But in the end he didn’t say anything at all.

***

Sam passed Bobby and Dean a beer apiece, but none for him. He still felt slightly ill, shock that he was in the past and the enormity of what he was going to do was shaking him. It wasn’t some quick trip back to his parents and they didn’t remember—no Sam was going to change his past, stop events he _remembered_ from ever happening.

“So what were you doing around here if you weren't digging me out of my grave?” Dean asked as he popped the cap off and threw it to the ground.

“Paying my respects.” Sam said. “I tried hunting Lilith these last few months after I realized that I couldn’t bring you back.”

Bobby gapes at him. “All by yourself? Who do you think you are—your old man?” He accused. Dean stood up suddenly and crossed over past Sam into the room towards the bed. Sam tracked his movements carefully.

Sam laughed harshly. “Yeah. Then I realized it was stupid. I came here to pay my respects to Dean and move on—keep hunting regular stuff.”

Dean frowned, holding up a pink bra. Ruby’s, Sam remembered. “And this?”

Sam sighed. “Nothing. I was messed up, Dean. Please excuse me for having sex. It’s not like you’ve never done it.”

Dean made a face. “Yeah, but dude, this is _you_.”

Sam rolled his eyes at him. “What, I’m not allowed?”

Bobby cleared his throat. “So you’ve been hunting?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. He didn’t remember what he’d been hunting this time. A demon? Probably. “Some demon possession.”

“And you ignored it to come here and ‘pay your respects’?” Dean sniped.

“No,” Sam said as he vaguely remembered that the demons had come here. “No I just followed them. They booked it up here yesterday morning.”

“When I busted out.” Dean said heavily. Sam blinked and wished he’d woken up yesterday morning, so he could maybe have met Dean at his grave and helped him out. On second thoughts . . . that wouldn’t have helped his case when he tried to pull the whole ‘I didn’t raise you’ thing.

“You think these demons are here 'cause of you?” Bobby asked Dean.

“Well, I don't know – some badass demon drags me out and now this? It's gotta be connected somehow.” Dean reasoned. Sam almost smirked. _Demon my ass._ He thought.

“How you feelin', anyway?” Bobby asked.

“I’m a little hungry.” Dean admitted. Sam flashed back to when he’d woken up in Bobby’s panic room with not a clue how he’d gotten there. He’d hugged Dean, who was overjoyed to see him, and Bobby, who was weary of him, though Sam hadn't known why.

_“Yeah, Cas—Cas is fine. Sam, are you okay?” Dean asked, concern on his face and laced in his voice._

_“Actually,” Sam said, noting the looks of fear flash across Dean’s face. “Um,” He took stock on how he was and his stomach growled. “I’m starving.”_

“No, I mean, do you feel like yourself? Anything strange, or different?” Bobby said, pulling Sam out of his thoughts.

“Or demonic? Bobby, how many times do I have to prove I'm me?” Dean demanded. Sam shuddered. It wasn’t Hell that had caused Dean to turn into a demon, it was his own hubris and need to save people. Very human motivations. Humanity had fallen away, leaving only a twisted parody of the man he had known.

“Yeah. Well, listen. No demon's letting you lose out of the goodness of their hearts. They've gotta have something nasty planned.” Bobby snapped.

_No angel, either._ Sam added silently.

“Well, I feel fine.” Dean said.

“So we need answers.” Sam said. “Know anyone who can help us, Bobby?”

“I know a psychic. A few hours from here. Something this big, maybe she's heard the other side talking.” Bobby replied.

“Hell yeah, it's worth a shot.” Dean said, starting to look alive now that he was going to get some answers.

“I'll be right back.” Bobby said, cell in hand and he left, his footsteps fading on the patchy carpet.

Dean stood up, rolling his bare neck slightly. Sam suddenly remembered that this was where he gave Dean his necklace.

“Wait,” He says and stands with Dean, digging the necklace out of his pocket. “You probably want this back.”

He ached when he saw the look of surprise and happiness that graced his brother’s face. Dean put the cord slowly around his neck and watched as it fell against his chest.

“Thanks.” Dean said softly.

“Yeah,” Sam said and cleared his throat.

Dean turned and headed for the bathroom, leaving Sam standing in the empty room with a pound of flesh in his chest that seemed heavier than it should.

***

Dean and Bobby left to take care of checking out while Sam packed quickly and efficiently and all but hurdled down to the parking lot and removed the iPod from the jack, removed the jack from the car, and placed it all in the trunk.

The iPod incident was one Dean hadn’t let him forget for the next year, and Sam didn’t want the extra teasing—once had been enough.

“She's about four hours down the Interstate. Try to keep up.” Bobby said as Sam slammed the trunk shut. He nodded at the hunter and looked at Dean who was looking at the Impala like it was the best pie in the world.

“I assume you'll want to drive.” Sam teased, pulling the keys to the Impala out of his pocket and dangling them in front of his brother. He tossed them to Dean, who caught them easily.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Dean said and finally touched the car that dad had given them, that he himself had helped John buy. The car that helped Sam find the strength to overcome Lucifer.

Sam hadn’t really thought about how important and special the car was until after he’d recovered his memories and was in the mental hospital. How that car helped him—a simple human—overcome the Devil himself. It sat in the Bunker’s garage, its once loving owner indifferent to its existence. It was Sam’s car, now, because Dean had left it—them—behind.

“Hey, sweetheart, did you miss me?” Dean said softly, stroking the black paint that younger Sam had diligently kept glossed over and clean. Sam smiled tightly, painfully, and got into the passenger side of the car while Dean climbed into the driver’s side. Sam watched his brother’s face as it melted with fondness and happiness. It had been so long since Sam had seen that expression. Years, really.

It struck him that here was a Dean who still did not know of the evilness his brother had committed. This Dean's biggest dilemma was the sins he had done in Hell. They peeled out of the parking lot, following Bobby’s truck. They sat in a comfortable silence. They both had secrets now, Sam thought. Dean was keeping the fact that remembered Hell a secret, and Sam was keeping the fact that he’d managed to mind-swap with his past self and was now trying to change history.

Yeah, they were definitely Winchesters.

“There's still one thing that's bothering me,” Dean said suddenly, and Sam turned towards him.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, the night that I bit it. Or . . . got bit.” Dean chuckled quietly and Sam’s lips tugged upwards into a quick smile. “How'd you make it out? I thought Lilith was going to kill you.”

“She tried.” Sam said. “But I think there’s a reason I’m a threat to her. Her mojo didn’t work.”

“How d’you mean?” Dean asked, shooting Sam a glance.

“She tried to incinerate me.” Sam said, “Didn't leave a scratch. It was like I was immune or something.”

“Immune?”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed, “I wasn’t sure who was more surprised, me or her. She left fairly quickly after that.”

“Huh. What about Ruby, where is she?” Dean asked.

Sam thought it over. He could tell Dean at least part of the truth, for now. Not all of it—Dean might be tempted to gank Ruby as fast as was humanly possible.

“Alive.” He said. “I see her every now and then. She mostly checks up on me to see if I haven’t killed myself yet or done anything stupid.”

Dean let out a sigh. “An’ here I thought we’d seen the last of her.”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, well, she mostly leaves me alone. I didn’t really want anything to do with her after, y’know . . .” _After I realized she manipulated me into raising Lucifer and we ganked her._

“Yeah.” Dean said, and then cleared his throat. “So you've been using your, uh, freaky ESP stuff?”

“No.” Sam said, because _he_ hadn’t, not in years.

“You sure about that? Well, I mean, now that you've got . . . immunity, whatever the hell that is . . . just wondering what other kind of weirdo crap you've got going on.”

“There were a few times I used them in the beginning,” Sam said softly and turned his head to look out the dark water-slick window. He could feel Dean’s gaze bore into him. “But I stopped. You didn’t want me to go down that road, and I saw you were right. I thought maybe it could be used to help people but . . . but it was evil, Dean. So evil.” Sam’s voice broke slightly and his eyes screwed shut as images of being force-fed demon blood ran through his mind and his shock turn into _nononono_ because once again he’d felt the darkness encircle his heart and wrap bands around his brain and that was when he’d first realized how dark it was, how dark he’d become.

“Good.” Dean said. “Let’s keep it that way.”

“Yeah,” Sam said and meant it with all his heart.

They fell silent again and Sam wondered how the other Sam was doing. Was he in the future trying to fool Cas? Since Sam wasn’t addicted to the blood, was the other Sam still hooked? How would Cas deal, with Dean running around as a demon and Sam from five years before suddenly walking around? The angel had Fallen; he didn’t need that crap to deal with.

The dark window reflected his face back at him and Sam closed his eyes, not wanting to see the face that haunted his nightmares reflected there.

***

Pamela’s house was familiar, sort of, because though Sam had only been there once before, it had been under other rather remarkable (and distracting) circumstances.

Pamela opened the door to Bobby’s knock. “Bobby!” She cried and wrapped him in a hug.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, Sam half smiling.

“You're a sight for sore eyes.” Bobby said and Sam flinched at the thought that in his timeline, Pamela only had her eyes for less than an hour. He caught Dean looking at him strangely and shrugged.

Pamela stepped back to appraise them.

Her eyes caught on Sam’s and Sam thought hard about her not telling anyone. He wasn’t sure if she could read him or not. Could psychic’s read the minds of people from the future?

“So, these the boys?” Pamela said at last, eyes darting between Dean and Sam.

“Sam, Dean. This is Pamela Barnes, best damn psychic in the state.” Bobby said.

“Hey,” Dean said, his shit-eating grin firmly in place.

“Hi,” Sam said.

“Mmm-mmm-mmm. Dean Winchester. Out of the fire and back in the frying pan, huh?” Pamela winked at him. “Makes you a rare individual.” Her eyes darted to Sam before going back to Dean.

“If you say so.” Dean said.

_Keep it a secret. I’ll answer your questions later._

Sam saw Pamela’s head nod and he relaxed a bit.

“Come on in.” Pamela called.

“So, you hear anything?” Bobby asked the dark haired psychic.

“Well, I Ouija'd my way through a dozen spirits. No one seems to know who broke your boy out, or why.” She responded.

“So what's next?” Bobby asked.

“A séance, I think. See if we can see who did the deed.”

“You’re not gonna . . . summon the damn thing here,” Bobby said, alarmed. Dean’s head perked up while Sam merely looked around the house, noting the few pictures of family and friends and the large variety of indoor plants.

“No. I just want to get a sneak peek at it. Like a crystal ball without the crystal.” Pamela laughed.

“I'm game.” Dean said, smirking at her.

She smirked right back.

***

Sam was aware of Pamela and Dean flirting, talking about Jesse. He was thinking hard about Pamela only settling for the creature’s name. He showed her a picture of what she looked like if she went any deeper. Dean neared him as he did this, hissing;

“Dude, I am so in.”

Pamela was staring at Sam, face white and eyes wide with fear.

Sam grimaces in apology, looking forlornly at her. She turned and busied herself with the black cloth.

“She's gonna eat you alive.” Sam said.

“Hey, I just got out of jail. Bring it.” Dean retorted, not noticing the pause.

***

“Right. Take each other's hands.” Pamela instructed, looking nervously at Sam, who was seated right next to her. “And I need to touch something our mystery monster touched.”

Dean jumped and Sam smirked as Dean said, “Whoa. Well, he didn't touch me there.”

Bobby and Sam shared a quick grin. “My mistake.” Pamela said sweetly. Dean grimaced and rolled up his shirt sleeve, revealing Castiel’s handprint. It was red and angry looking, but Sam recalled that Dean spent some time in the car looking at it after Cas had died after the Leviathans were freed.

“Okay.” Pamela took a deep breath. “I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle. I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle. I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle.” The TV switched on and Sam was pretty sure he and Pamela were the only ones who didn’t jump. Pamela because she was concentrating, Sam because he was used to it. “I invoke, conjure, and command . . . Castiel?”

Sam waited on bated breath. Here was where Pamela made her choice.

“Very well, Castiel.” Pamela said at last. “Thank you.”

Slowly her eyes opened. Whole. Undamaged.

“Castiel?” Dean asked.

“Its name.” Pamela said. “It warned me away.”

***

“So, you’re from the future.” Pamela said as Dean left to grab beers from her kitchen and Bobby to grab a book from his truck.

“My mind, at least.” Sam said softly. They were sitting side by side on the couch. Sam was staring out the window at the clear day, the sunlight drifting serenely in.

“Thanks,” Pamela said. “For warning me.”

“Of course,” Sam snorted. “I’m going to try and help as many people as I can.”

“The you of this time is so dark.” She murmurs. “You think about him constantly. The Sam of this year could’ve done so much, saved so many more lives . . . and now you have the chance.”

“And I intend to use it.” Sam said grimly. “I may need help.”

“Feel free to call.” She said. “Can you jot down some protection sigils? If what I read it true, then I’m gonna need ‘em.”

“Sure,” Sam said. “And thanks, really.”

Pamela looked at him before nodding. “Hey, from the little I've seen of the future . . . I don’t want it. That hell you're from. I don't want it.”

“No,” Sam said, looking away. “No you don’t.”

He copied a few sigils for angels and demons into a notebook and left with his brother and Bobby. Pamela hugged Bobby goodbye, gave Dean a quick peck, and smiled warmly (sadly) at Sam.

They left.

***

Sam took Dean to a diner far away from the one that they’d gone to last time. They sat down and Sam observed each of the staff. They weren’t looking at the brothers too much as they sat down and ordered from the limited menu.

“So,” Dean said as the waiter—a college boy with dreadlocks and a fang earring scratching at his neck—walked away. “We got a name. Castiel, or whatever. With the right mumbo-jumbo we could summon him, bring him right to us.”

“You’re joking.” Sam said, knowing that Dean wasn’t.

“Nope.” Dean said. “We'll work him over. I mean, after what he did?”

“You mean raising you from Hell?” Sam said. “Dean, we don’t know who this guy is, and Castiel . . . I read that name somewhere.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked, rising a mug of coffee to his lips.

“Yeah, a website of angels. Castiel was the angel of Thursday.” Sam said. “Not exactly a demon name, huh?”

“Dude, angels don’t exist.” Dean said impatiently. “And when did you research that?”

“Yeah but that raises the question of what is it, exactly, if it's not a demon.” Sam points out, ignoring the second question. “Can you at least think this through?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Dean grumbled.

They finished their meal and left, heading back to the motel. Dean crashed on a bed. Sam paused. Here is where he left to exorcise the demon with Ruby. The first time he used his powers after Dean had come back.

Sam had a better idea.

He softly left, slipping into the Impala and peeling out. It would take nearly six hours to get from Illinois to Michigan and the Campbell Compound, but he had a day. Dean and Bobby had to meet Cas.

Sam had work to do.


	2. I Get What I Deserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is just trying to get grounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural is a family show. It can be heartbreaking, but what I see is Jared and Jensen playing up the brotherly bond quite a bit. This last season basically showed just how much hurt there is in the relationship, and I think that there may be a whole bunch of fighting going on that we don’t see. Sam is pissed off at Dean; Dean is pissed off at Sam. They fight, and they fight hard and dirty. I’m trying to keep this canon, but I just see there being a whole bunch of fighting going on that we don’t see that is meant to hurt the other. Neither has been afraid to pull punches before, and really, neither is into much chick-flick stuff. This is a story about being hurt and broken, and I know that Sam might reflect on his time a lot, but he’s been through a lot and I felt he needed to think about everything. Then, maybe, at the end of his story, he might begin to heal. Just a heads up for some parts in the story later on.
> 
> Now, I’m not going to write out all the episodes, but I will try to reference them all so you can see what steps Sam is taking as he tries to change the past.
> 
> Also, wow. Thank you all for the positive feedback! It means so much to me!
> 
> Updates are on Sunday!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Yellowstone National Forest, nor do I own Supernatural.
> 
> Song is from ‘New Divide’ by Linkin Park

_“But sometimes it's the sunshine that frightens us more than the big black shadows.”_ —Megan Hart 

“Dean, what else could he be?” Sam said impatiently. “’Cause I’m thinkin’ this is the real deal.” 

“Look, all I know is I was not groped by an angel.” Dean said. “And remember the last ‘angel’ we came across?”

“That’s not the point.” Sam said. “Why don’t you just talk to Cas . . . tiel?” He belatedly tacked on Cas’ full name and hoped Dean didn’t notice the pause. “Maybe he's some kind of demon. Demons lie.” Dean said, not noticing Sam’s slip.

Sam wanted to bash his head onto the table in irritation. “A ‘demon’ who's immune to salt rounds and devil's traps . . . and Ruby's knife? Dean, Lilith is scared of him!”

“Don't you think that if angels were real,” Dean said as if Sam was stupid, “That some hunter somewhere would have seen one . . . at some point . . . ever?”

Sam thought back to the Men of Letters bunker and the files he and Cas had found on angels and experiments—often ones aided by angels (Fallen or the real deal) themselves—that they had done. Oh yes, hunters had at one point in time knew angels were real. Sam wondered when that had stopped.

“Dean, how many hunters do we know?” Sam asked. “How many have lived before us? More than we could possibly know about. How many of them kept records that survived? We don’t know. We’ve got no clue, Dean. No clue what they experienced or the kind of monsters they met. So, who knows? And we don’t know, Dean. So maybe you did just meet an angel.”

“I'm trying to come up with a theory here. Okay? Work with me.” Dean said irritably.

“We have a theory.” Sam said tiredly.

“Yeah, one with a little less fairy dust on it, please.” Dean said.

“What do you have against it?” Sam snapped.

“We don't know for sure, so I'm not gonna believe that this thing is a freaking Angel of the Lord because it says so!” Dean spat.

“You two chuckleheads want to keep arguing religion, or do you want to come take a look at this?” Bobby broke in, and Sam mentally thanked Bobby for the interruption. Angels were dicks, no doubt about it, but Cas was his friend and he knew how hard his life was. He’d also forgotten what it had been like when Dean hadn’t believed. He was so used to angels being in his life that to have Dean, the man who had a ‘profound bond’ with an angel, question it . . . Sam was just trying to wrap his head around that. The ride would be a lot smoother once he did.

He joined Dean as they trekked over to Bobby’s desk.

“I got stacks of lore—Biblical, pre-Biblical. Some of it's in damn cuneiform. It all says an angel can snatch a soul from the pit.”

“What else?” Dean said tersely.

“What else, what?” Bobby asked bemusedly.

“What else could do it?” Dean elaborated.

“Airlift your ass out of the hot box?” Bobby clarified. “As far as I can tell—nothing.”

“Dean, this is good news.” Sam remembered saying that before and decided to repeat it now. Dean looked sideways at him like he’d grown an extra head.

“How?”

“Because at least you don’t owe a demon anything.” Sam said. “You owe an angel. Could be worse, right? They’re supposed to be good guys.” Sam kept himself from flinching as he said this because he knew that angels were as bad—if not worse—than demons. But the Sam of this time . . . he believed in the goodness of angels. And he knew Dean knew it.

“Okay. Say it's true. Say there are angels. Then what? There's a God?”

“At this point, Vegas money's on yeah.” Bobby muttered.

“I don't know guys.” Dean groaned.

“Maybe this is less about faith, now that we have some proof.” Sam said softly.

“Proof?” Dean asked skeptically.

“Yes.” Sam said.

“Proof that there's a God out there that actually gives a crap about me personally? I'm sorry, but I'm not buying it.”

“Why not?” Sam said. 

“Because why me? If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?” Sam and Bobby said nothing, and Dean plowed on. “I mean, I've saved some people, okay? I figured that made up for the stealing and chicks. But why do I deserve to get saved? I'm just a regular guy.”

“Maybe there’s more going on than we know.” Sam said softly. _Vessels, Righteous Men, Apocalypses, nothing big_. “But you sold your soul for me, Dean. And I’m not exactly . . . good.” He swallowed thickly. “You didn’t belong in Hell, Dean. So maybe that’s why the angel got you out.”

“You’re plenty good, Sam.” Dean said, but Sam just shook his head. “Well, that creeps me out. I mean, I don't like getting singled out at birthday parties, much less by . . . God.”

“Okay, well, too bad, Dean, because I think he wants you to strap on your party hat.” Sam grinned slightly.

“Alright. What do we know about angels?” Dean said and looked back at Bobby.

Bobby plopped a thick stack of books in front of Dean. “Start readin’.”

“You're gonna get me some pie.” Dean glared at Sam.

***

When Sam pulled up in front of a café, Dean was on the phone making good to his demand for pie. Sam rolled his eyes even though Dean couldn’t see it.

“Of course.” He said, smiling. “Dude, I _always_ get you pie, unless I’m kidnapped by demons.”

“Shut up.” Dean said irritably and hung up. Sam snapped his phone shut and stepped out of the car and walked over to the café. In the shade of a building, he saw Ruby and his gut clenched in anger.

Sam, on the way to the compound, had decided to play both sides of the war. He was well aware he was an abomination and planned to use that to his advantage. No angel would look into his head due to their disgust for him, and no demon would, either, either by the rules of Lilith or fear for the Boy King. When he and Pamela had met up again after he and Dean were in the neighborhood a few weeks back, they had experimented with how he could hide his thoughts. If he thought about his past/present self, and the mindset that he had been in, then those thoughts appeared in the surface. If anyone looked deeper than Sam would be screwed, but Sam didn’t think that would happen. Pamela had also sensed another presence in his mind, and after digging around they had discovered it was his past self.

_“My past self.” Sam repeated. “He’s in my mind.”_

_“I think so.” The raven-haired psychic said. “Sleeping, but there.”_

_“I thought this was a mind swap.” Sam said. “Not my mind taking over my younger self’s mind.”_

_“I thought so, too.” Pamela said. “But it would explain why your—his—thoughts can come to the surface. They’re already there, just asleep.”_

_“So I took over his body?” Sam asked. “How? Why?”_

_“Your guess is as good as mine.” Pamela admitted. “I’ve never seen anything like this. But I’ll ask around for any spell or occurrence that could cause this to happen. I know you want to keep this a secret.”_

_“They’re just so young.” Sam said wistfully. “So free of pain.”_

_“I looked into Dean’s mind, and it’s full of pain.” Pamela said, startled. “How could it get worse than it is now?”_

_“Trust me,” Sam said and stood to leave. “You don’t wanna know. I’ll call later if I need to, but otherwise call me only if you have something, please.”_

_“I will.” Pamela promised. “I just wish you had more support.”_

_Sam grinned bitterly. “I’ve had less help before. Thank you.”_

_He left, leaving the woman standing on her porch, watching him leave. It could get so much worse than Hell . . . he_ would _save Dean from that._

Sam did not want to Apocalypse at all—once for him had been enough.

So in order to play both sides, he needed to be a third party. Last time he had been firmly on Ruby’s side, so sure that he was right and doing the right thing. Kill Lilith for the pain he felt, for the anger and thirst to go away. That hadn’t happened. So this time he’d be Dean’s brother, Ruby’s puppet, and the puppeteer at the same time. The demons, angels . . . no one would see it coming, he hoped.

He would like nothing better than to kill Ruby, but he was sure that would set off an alert. Sam didn’t want to give the angels and demons time to change the game plan. If everything was similar enough to how it had happened last time, than maybe no one would sense the changes he was making. To remain similar, Sam would have to betray Dean over Ruby again, and Ruby would have to stay alive. His stomach clenched at the thought of betraying Dean, but if he explained later, than maybe Dean would understand and forgive him.

Or maybe he would look at Sam and demand to have his brother, young Sam without a clue of the shit storm his older self had adverted, back. He’d cast older Sam out, expel him. Sam was okay with that.

_“This is not a team. This is a dictatorship!”_ Dean’s voice said harshly. That was the Dean he knew. The bitter, broken man—no longer a man, but had been one for a long time—who lost faith in the world, himself, and his brother. That was the Dean he was trying to avoid making here, and the going to return to when this mess was over. He pasted an earnest expression on his face as Ruby came within whispering range.

“Ruby.” Sam said cordially. 

“So, is it true?” Ruby asked, her face betraying signs of worry to Sam’s seasoned opinion.

_Good_ , he thought viciously.

“Is what true?” He asked, playing along.

“Did an angel rescue Dean?”

“We think so.” Sam said. _We know so._

“Okay. Bye, Sam.” Ruby said and started walking away. Sam strode forwards and spun her around to face him. He saw a glimpse of fury and triumph in her eyes before a cold calm replaced it.

“Wait. What's going on?” Sam asked, already knowing.

“Sam, they're angels. I'm a demon. They're not gonna care If I'm being helpful. They smite first, and then they ask questions later.” Ruby tugged at her arm and Sam dropped it.

_Helpful my ass_ , Sam thought.

“What do you know about them?” He asked.

“Not much. I've never met one, and I don't really want to. All I know is that they scare the holy hell out of me. Watch yourself, Sam.” The demon turned away again and this time Sam did not try and stop her.

“I'm not scared of angels, Ruby.” Sam said truthfully and Ruby looked patronizingly at him before turning and walking off. _Except one angel_ , Sam thought. But Ruby didn’t need to know that.

Ruby didn’t need to know anything at all.

***

The Rise of the Witnesses. To think that in the show, _Sleepy Hollow_ , (which wouldn’t come out for another four years) it didn’t mean rabid angry ghosts made Sam laugh. Dean may call him a nerd for thinking about that, but he had sat down with Kevin and Sam in the bunker to watch it, too.

Hendrickson and Meg taunted him about the demon blood and Ruby. Sam was relieved to find that they could only see the things he’d done in the present-past. He wasn’t high on demon blood or messing around with Ruby this time around, but that’s what they taunted him about. They could only sense the sleeping younger Sam, whose thoughts were full of darkness but not older Sam.

If Sam could, he’d erase his younger self from existence so that he couldn’t be resurrected or turned. To kill his younger self would mean avoiding so many things that would harm Dean and their friends. It would mean that Dean . . . Dean would be alone, but he’d be alive and safe. However, Sam couldn’t access his younger self, so that wasn’t an option at this point.

Rise of the Witnesses, right. _What a pain in the ass_ , Sam thought as he and Dean hightailed it to Bobby’s.

However, the second time around was much easier than the first and Sam directed Bobby and Dean (carefully so that the orders were disguised as suggestions or comments) to finding the answer faster, saving Bobby faster (it helped that he knew where the girls had hidden him ahead of time) and knew about the whole shooting thing. He used the experiences of being soulless to help guide him when keeping the Witnesses at bay; his soulless self spent hours learning how to fight better and shoot quicker. Sam didn’t use those skills often because he wanted nothing to do with his soulless self, but he still knew how to be a better fighter. He’d packed ahead of time, as soon as he saw Hendrickson, and the bullets flew from his fingers. He had barred the windows, too, lining them with salt so the ghosts couldn’t open them.

But Sam thought he sensed Bobby’s eyes on him, ever since the older man had taken him and Dean to the Panic Room and Sam had to remember to act surprised and impressed a little too late. Bobby, however, didn’t say anything, and Sam never spoke to him about it. But they both knew that Sam had walked right in there and made himself at home, like he had been there (locked up there) countless times before.

***

Sam isn’t quite sure when Cas would send Dean back to the past to ‘stop’ Mary from making the deal. 2014 Sam, Dean, and Cas knew now that Dean was supposed to fail; Sam had to ingest the demon blood to hold Lucifer. But here, now, this Dean still thought he had a chance at saving their family. Sam had no such illusions.

He went out each night for hours, making Dean suspicious, and doubling back every few hours to see if Cas and Dean had disappeared. He spent the time researching and met with Ruby only once.

_“Hey Sam.” Ruby said. Sam leaned casually on the stolen car and smirked at her._

_“Ruby,” He said. “How are you doing?”_

_“Trying to keep away from some demons.” Ruby said and sidled up next to him. She shrugged. “I’m a disgrace to demon kind. A lot of people want me dead.”_

_Disgrace to demon kind my ass, Sam thought._

_“I’m sorry to hear that.” He only said._

_Ruby rolled up a sleeve. “Thirsty?” She smiled coyly. Sam wanted to gag. “You should be. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”_

_“Ruby,” Sam stepped away. “My brother’s back.”_

_“I know,” Ruby said, dropping her arm. “But don’t you still want to kill Lilith?”_

_“More than anything,” Sam said. “But these meetings, these . . . they take a while. Long enough to make Dean suspicious.”_

_“You’re stopping Lilith using gifts only you can use.” Ruby stepped up close to him. “You’re the only one who can stop her, Sam. Only you can.”_

_“I know!” Sam said. “But Dean doesn’t like you. At all. I think for now, until I know more about what Dean plans on doing, you just give me the blood in a bottle. I’ll drink it when I can, and I’ll practise when I can.”_

_Ruby sighed, but Sam was pleased to see she didn’t look suspicious. “If that’s what you want, Sam.” She said. She withdrew a flask and sliced her arm, letting the red drops fall into the opening. “I hope you don’t let Dean hold you back,” She said and handed him the bottle. He closed it and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “You’re special, Sam. More so than Dean.”_

_“Yeah,” Sam said and slipped into the car, driving away from the twisted demon. On the way back from the motel, he surreptitiously let the flask fly out the window on a particularly bumpy bridge and watched it fall into the river, swallowed up by the dark black water._

When he got back to the motel, he saw Cas and Dean in the room and watched as both vanished.

Dean would be back in a couple of hours.

Sam had work to do.

He had made sure they were in Lansing, Michigan, citing some ghost possession or something. They had taken care of it the day before and now Sam was less than ten minutes away from the Campbell compound. He could be back in time. Especially if he broke every speed limit there and back.

***

Sam was just trying to get grounded. This was the year he failed and everything; the world, his attempts at doing good, his friends, and Dean went to hell because he, Sam, had been so stupid. He trusted an enemy—whom he had known was evil, she was a fucking _demon_ , for God’s sake!—and had ended up as screwed as everyone said he would be. So, yeah, Sam was floundering. He was. Here, in this time, every single little mistake he’d made, all of the fights and dark thoughts he’d experienced bubbled to the forefront of his mind from where he’d buried them. He wasn’t sure how to act around Dean and Bobby anymore. Their relationship had changed since this year. Bobby treated him more like a walking bomb, especially after the incident with his soulless self, and he and Dean . . . they were broken. They had been broken since Sam had set Lucifer free.

Sam didn’t know how to act, because all of his initial reactions he did naturally now do were the ones forged after the Cage and his spell of insanity and the Trials and the betrayal . . . Not the boy who’d lost his brother to Hell. That had been so long ago.

So right now, Sam was just trying to stay afloat and maybe do some good again.

***

He arrived back at the motel later that night, a stack of scanned pages from books hidden in his duffle, an hour before Dean and Cas showed up again. He read through some of the pages, highlighting anything that looked useful, before hiding the papers away at the bottom of his duffle bag. He wished he could get to the Bunker, but without the key there was no way in. After he’d grabbed the pages, he had gone out to grab some burgers and when he came back, Cas was just vanishing through the window. Sam heard the flap of wings before he jammed the key in the door and twisted it open.

“Dean,” He said and stopped dead in the doorway. “What the hell? Where were you?”

“1973.” Dean said tiredly and moved to grab the burger bags out of Sam’s stiff hands.

“You serious?” Sam asked, letting the paper bags go and sinking slowly into the chair next to the door. He hoped he looked appropriately shocked.

“Yep,” Dean said and grabbed a burger out of his bag. He launched into a tale about meeting their dad and mom, how mom and her family had been hunters (both sides of the family, only now do they start to see how deep they were in the world before they were even born) and the angel's interference.

“So mom was a hunter.” Sam said.

“I wouldn't have believed it either if I hadn't seen it myself. That woman could kick some ass. I mean, she almost took me down.” Dean said.

“She was happy.” Sam stated wistfully.

“Dad, too. Until of course . . .” Dean trailed off. Sam stared out the window, chewing on his nails absentmindedly. Dad had been happy, mom too. Seemed like a dream.

“What?” Dean asked.

Sam sighed. “Dean, there’s something bothering you. You ran into Yellow Eyes, right?”

“Yeah . . .” Dean said slowly. Sam didn’t look him in the eye.

“He told you about the blood, didn’t he?” he asked softly.

Dean froze. “You knew about that?”

Sam flexed his hands slowly. “He told me. Showed me, actually, in Cold Oak.” Unable to sit, he stood up and walked towards the beds, beginning to pace. Dean tracked his movements carefully. “He showed me that night in a replay type thing. And I watched as he . . . as he killed mom.” He turned his back on Dean, tightening his hands and bending his head. “I watched him drip blood into my . . . into my mouth,” he spat the words out, still feeling the dirtiness and rage as if he had only learned it yesterday. He hunched his shoulders, almost shaking from his volatile emotions, as he waited for Dean to respond.

“You knew for a whole year?” Dean asked flatly.

Sam nodded.

“Well, no need to tell me, obviously.”

“Dean,” Sam turned and faced his brother, looking him in the eye. “I had just found out I had _demon blood_ in me." There was no way Dean could ever understand, just as Sam could never understand the power of the Mark. "I had . . . evil, in my body. I can’t ever get rid of that, Dean. Ever. And it was just easier to focus on one bad thing at a time, and your deal was more important to me.”

“I had a right to know.” Dean insisted.

“No, Dean, you didn’t.” Sam felt so tired suddenly. “Dean this is my life and my choices. I’ve messed up, I’ve screwed up, but I’m trying. I know you need to look out for me, but I gotta have a life too and . . . and that just wasn’t something I was ready or willing to share. You don’t know the . . . the _evilness_ of it, Dean. You have no idea.” He closed his eyes and tightened his jaw. “There was a time I thought I could make up for it,” he muttered, more to himself than Dean. “But it just keeps following me around like a curse.”

He could almost see Dean opening his mouth to reply when Sam’s phone rang and they paused, both turning to look at it. After a moment, Sam picked it up and glanced at the ID. “Travis?” He asks. “Hey, yeah, okay . . . yeah, it’s been a while . . . Sure, give me the details.” He jolted down an address and city and nodded, though Travis couldn’t see it. “Yep, got it. Thanks, Travis.”

He set the phone and pad of paper down and regarded Dean. “Got a case. You up for it?”

Dean plastered a smile on his face. “Hell yeah.”

***

Sam wasn’t sure how to deal with Jack, the rugaru. Last time they’d completely failed to save Jack, mostly through their hesitation to help a monster. But after the college werewolves, after Benny, really—after so many other individual monsters who had tried to be good and do the right thing, Sam was a lot more lenient. So while Dean researched (he’d complained bitterly about it, but Sam offered to get pie and Dean caved) Sam made his way to the house. Jack and his wife were home and Sam had come in while Jack’s bones were shifting under his skin.

They hadn’t believed him at first. Sam hadn’t expected them too. But he spoke to them, showed them newspaper clippings from other cases of rugarus, and finally Sam could see them swayed. He warned them about Trevor and the unborn child that may or may not inherit Jack’s genes. Jack was horrified, but Sam and his wife calmed him down.

“It’s your choice, Jack.” Sam had said while his wife went upstairs to pack. “This, all of it, is up to you. What you do now will make you what and who you are. Choose wisely, Jack.”

Jack had nodded and tried to smile but failed and Sam waved goodbye to the couple after giving them his number to call if they needed anything.

When he made it back to the motel, it was to Dean looking murderous, books and paper lying scattered on the floor and beds, forgotten.

“Where the hell were you?” he growled. Sam froze, blinking quickly and settling his gaze on Dean.

“Out,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Dean snapped. “What I want to know is _where_.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “I took care to the rugaru,” he muttered, looking at the dirty white carpeted ground and waiting for the explosion.

Dean did not disappoint.

“You did _what_?” he shouted, his voice still higher than it should be (Sam had to keep reminding himself that this was not his Dean—sometimes they were so similar is made his head hurt) and there was concern and worry laced underneath his tone of fury.

“I talked to Jack,” Sam said slowly, trying to hide his impatience. “He needed to know what was happening. He and his wife are going to try and make it work, and they’ll call me if they need anything.”

“You let him go? He’s a monster!” Dean exclaimed.

“No he’s not!” Sam shouted, finally losing his calm. “It’s not his fault, Dean! He can’t help it, but he can avoid it! If he truly wants to be human, than he will be!”

“Monsters can’t change what they are, Sam.” Dean said, a dangerous light gleaming in his eyes.

Suddenly Sam saw his brother— _his_ Dean, from _his_ time with black eyes and a cocky smirk that was full of blood and death. His Dean, who slowly spiraled into murder and violence, all because of his need to fix the world, to make it better. He took the Mark of Cain to stop the war in Heaven and Hell, and he suffered the cost. It was this same blind determination this Dean had donned that had gotten his brother where he was. It was his assuredness of how the world was that brought him into the darkness.

“No Dean,” Sam said heavily and turned away, shoulders hunched and tone weary. “You’re wrong.”

He sensed Dean approach him. “Somethin’ you wanna tell me, Sammy?”

Sam lowered his head, fighting with himself again over his decision to withhold the truth from Dean. It would be such a load off his chest to have his brother in the know, who could then help him with his plan rather than wallow in the indecision and guilt the angels were causing him. To assure him that Sam knows what Hell was like and that he wasn’t alone, to lay out the true sides of the war so that he wouldn’t have to doubt if he was really on the side of good or not. To tell him which angels were dicks and which weren’t, which demons they could semi trust and which they couldn’t. To let him know that Sam wasn’t going to go dark side, that he knew what that road led to and wouldn’t let it happen again.

But then Dean would know the shit the future had in store for them, how Sam had lied to him and how much he had failed not just Dean, but the world at large. Dean would know about what Sam had done in his future/past, and that would . . . Sam and his Dean and Cas knew just what he had done. Why did he need to bother this Dean with it? Why should he subject Dean to the guilt that he would surely conjure up when faced with his future—unless Sam change it. He could protect Dean. He could save Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Anna, and so many more. The lives he could save . . . and this Dean would never have to know. He would never have to. That was what finally made up Sam’s mind. Ignorance is bliss, after all.

“No, Dean.” Sam said finally, straightening up and turning to face his brother, looking the shorter man dead in the eye. “There isn’t.”

***

Sam and Dean took care of the Shifter playing dress up in monster costumes. Sam went through the motions of research, already preparing to take the monster down. It worked with barely a hitch, Dean barely glancing at him strangely. Sam was getting back on his feet, trying to keep Dean’s suspicion down as they worked the job.

He was falling into the role he and his Dean once had. They still had it, Sam thought, but there was far more tension between the two. Sam would research and Dean would go off and they would bicker. Here, now, that bickering was friendly, brotherly, if slightly strained—Dean was getting used to being alive again, after all. In the future? Not so much. Barbs were designed to hurt, comments meant to sink deep, statements to rip apart. Their jibs had thinly veiled threats underlying them, and Sam was trying so hard to keep his tone light, his teasing all in jest. He’d grown so used to fighting that actual joking was a bit hard for him.

It was a depressing realization.

***

Sam didn’t know how much of his future/old body and old/present/past body had molded. This Sam, his younger/sort-of-current self was asleep in his mind, and Sam wanted to see how much of his old body he could pull into his younger body. The Enochian sigils would be incredibly helpful, and Sam wanted to see if he could bring them here. Whatever had brought him here had somehow managed to allow some flow between the two; Sam should be addicted to demon blood. While he was intensely grateful he didn't have to deal with the mind-consuming addiction, it shouldn't be possible. He should have been addicted; this present/past Sam was. He was riddled with the stuff. But, yet, he wasn’t. Sometimes, if he thought too hard about Ruby and the blood he felt the craving, but he always shied away from the dangerous temptation. It was as if Younger Sam was bleeding into him. It wasn't hard to snap back, but it told him that he had control of this two-in-one body. It also told him that whatever had brought him here was very powerful.

He broke into the clinic, not wanting Dean to track his (fake) credit card movements. The first scan showed nothing; his ribs were bare of any Enochian sigils. Sam sighed in frustration. Without the ability to hide from angels, his job would be a whole lot harder. Pacing, he threw his mind back to when Cas branded them into their ribs. The uncomfortable heat prickled by a severe case of pins and needles all up and down his chest. The X-Ray beeped and Sam glanced over at it to find, to his amazement, that the sigils were over his ribs. He stopped thinking about the engravings, but there they remained. Sam frowned; that wouldn’t do. Cas and Uriel and later Anna would find it odd that Sam would have Enochian wards over his ribs infused with Castiel’s Grace when Castiel had done no such thing.

Sam thought furiously about seeing the X-Rays before his warding had appeared. The plain, ordinary looking ribs he had had for the majority of his life. He watched in fascination as the sigils faded from his ribs, the sickly green/white images flickering slightly.

“How the hell does that work?” he muttered to himself, still looking at the X-Rays in awe. “I’ve basically mind swapped with a few bonuses,” he started thinking aloud, murmuring to himself quietly. “This should not be possible. Unless my body is in flux?” He lowered his shirt and sat on the spindly stool. “Maybe if someone in my time was messing with time travel, and had located my body, they could be using it to locate me through time and space, allowing some of the characteristics to bleed through to my mind.” He combed a hand through his hair. “So someone is trying to find me,” he concluded. “Not Dean,” He laughed, a short and brutal sound that scraped his throat. “Maybe Cas. Just hope my older face doesn’t bleed through. I won’t be able to explain that.” He got up and sneaked out of the clinic and off to the motel where they had been staying. Sam shoved his hands into his jacket and looked up at the faint, dim lights that glittered against the black sky.

***

The ghost sickness was easy. Sam merely said he’d read something like this before and went alone to take the ghost down while Dean sat petrified back in the motel room. He barely flinched as he wrapped the chain around the ghost and drug it along the road. He had already pitied the ghost the first time around; he did not see the need to dreg up those same emotions a second time.

Seeing Dean so afraid of everything kept him off balance. The Dean he had left in the future had been such a hard-ass for months and months. The last time he had showed much emotion to Sam was on the dock when Sam had told him to go. That had been so long ago with everything else that had happened, Sam almost forgot. (It hadn’t really been the last time, there had been one other time, Dean’s bloodied face looking weakly at him, his eyes drooping in death and weariness, but Sam was not thinking about that time, because remembering that time would mean remembering what had happened right afterwards . . .)

He hoped he didn’t forget again as he hugged this young Dean when he got back, closing his eyes and seeing black eyes staring back at him.

***

The first Seal that he and Dean need to worry about was Samhain. Sam only knew a few of the Seals, the rest had been ‘taken care of’ by the angels. He slipped out late at night and headed off to the town. He had stolen a car, and it had a full tank of gas. He silently apologized to its owner and hoped that they might find it again sometime.

He and Dean had been busy lately, Sam finding a whole bunch of little hunts that were close to libraries he needed to visit. As soon as he saw the date, he convinced Dean to head out to dinner without him, telling him to have a good time because no big cases were lined up. He knew Dean would get drunk and probably fall into the first woman he came across. Dean would be out of commission for the night.

Sam had brought the sigils into existence as he drove in the opposite direction of the small town. He then ditched the car and stole another one before doubling back and driving to the town. There he tracked down the two witches, the male in his apartment, and the female heading off to begin the Seal, and killed them both, slicing their throats open and muffling their screams. He found all of the hex bags in the woman’s (what was her name? It had been so long . . .) apartment and subsequently destroyed them. The Seal had been adverted, the night passing by. Sam scoured the internet until midnight passed, looking for unusual deaths involving razor blades, but finding nothing.

The Seal had failed.

***

Sam went back to the motel as five o’clock rolled around. His ribs were bare, Dean was oblivious, and a Seal was saved. (There were six hundred Seals. One didn't make a difference; Lilith could just get another one. But Sam let himself have this one victory.) Sam even dared to turn on the radio, turning it to rock and singing quietly along to some of the music. When he pulled up to the street their motel was on, he ditched the car and walked the half block to the motel. The window to their room was dark, the Impala gone from its place out front. Sam grinned tiredly and jammed the key in the lock, twisting it until the bolt slid back. He let himself into the room and set his bag down, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Well,” a voice said in the dark. Sam forced himself not to jump and switched on the light. Castiel was sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed, looking intensely at him. Sam tried to clear his face, bringing the present/past Sam’s thoughts to the forefront of his brain.

“Castiel,” Sam acknowledged and sat down at the edge of his bed, across from the angel.

“We have not met yet,” Castiel said. “Yet I see that I am familiar to you.”

Sam almost cursed out loud. Though it had been five years since these events, time in the Cage was much slower. His soul had spent a year and a half down there, which equaled over a thousand years in the Cage. For a thousand years all he had known was _pain_ , and the constant tortured delivered to him by two pissed off archangels with a serious grudge against him. He was a puny, frail, weak human; he had crumbled under their onslaught until he was nothing more than a receptacle of pain, twitching and screaming when Michael and Lucifer wanted him to. After he had gotten out and remembered, he had then spent a year having Lucifer rewrite his memories, warping them into dark versions of half-forgotten vestiges of pain and anger.

For the past two years he focused on the _now_ , because anything before might be real or false, and Sam wasn’t sure which was real or not. He had let the memories to rot on their own. That was the reason he was having trouble joking with Dean, yet finding it so easy to play the part of the brother going dark side. Allowing the evil that already lived inside him to well up and become visible in his thoughts? Easy. Dealing with a light-hearted Dean who treated him like a brother and not a crutch to survive? Less easy.

But he and Cas hadn’t met until the Seal of Samhain. Sam had been honored to meet such pure beings who had deemed him, the demon spawn of Azazel, worthy to be in their presence. Then he had seen Uriel’s enthusiasm for destroying an entire town, and had felt betrayed. Was there no goodness left in the world? Was the idea of Light simply a fantasy some had? If angels couldn’t be right or just, what hope did he have? This revelation merely sent him further into the clutches of Ruby. Not this time.

“Dean described you.” Sam said carefully. Because Dean had, on several occasions. “It’s an honor to meet you.” He added. He once again lied with the truth. It was an honor to meet Castiel as he once had been; blindly faithful with no idea that he would Fall so far.

(But he missed his Cas. He missed his friend.)

“I see.” Castiel said. He looked over Sam’s shoulder, gaze contemplative. “I have been ordered to watch both you and your brother,” he said in his deep and fathomless voice. “Dean is . . . busy,” Castiel's face was devoid of any emotion. Sam, however, knew him and knew that the angel was uncomfortable with whatever he had seen Dean doing. Sam stifled a grin. “But,” the dark haired angel turned to Sam, “When I looked for you, I saw nothing.”

Sam was silent.

“At the same time,” Castiel continued. “A Seal that locks Lucifer in his Cage was saved. Now tell me, Sam Winchester, what do you make of that?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. "Were the angels actually doing their jobs?"

Castiel returned his gaze to Sam and narrowed his eyes, not understanding Sam's sarcasm. “Your thoughts are about the demon Ruby and her blood, yet you have not been to see her in quite a while, and now that I am close I see that there is no demon blood in your veins. So, Sam Winchester, what are you hiding?”

Sam was silent, gauging Castiel. This Castiel was not his friend, and still firmly believed in the Righteousness of Heaven. “Castiel.” He said. “If Dean and I had a choice between an entire town being destroyed and a Seal being broken, we would choose to save the town.”

If Castiel was startled that Sam knew his plans, the angel didn't show it. Instead he tilted in head in a familiar gesture.

“Why?” Castiel asked.

“Because it is the right thing to do,” Sam said. “Humans are God’s children. That is said in the Bible. I don’t know how much of that book is real or false, but that much is clear. Destroying a town of His children is not Right or Just. It’s wrong. If there is a Seal, send Dean and I in. We’ll find the culprits and tell you. You can then move in and destroy the people who are trying to break the Seal, not the humans who are innocently living in the town.”

Castiel was silent for the speech, still looking at Sam with unwavering blue eyes.

“I have made mistakes, Castiel.” Sam said. “I know I am evil, and I know what runs through my veins. I can feel the darkness inside of me. You—you’re Light, you’re blessed. You are everything I wish I could be.” Castiel blinked once as he watched Sam speak, his face devoid of any emotions. Sam remembered his Cas, the Cas who could feel love and hope and guilt. He plowed on, _willing_ Castiel to understand what he was saying, hoping he understood what Sam was trying to relay. “But I live with my curse, and I try to do right by the world. Me and my brother? We save people, we hunt things that would kill them. Not all humans are good, but not all are bad, and they all deserve a chance to live and try to make the world better. That’s what angels should be guarding and protecting. That’s what you should be fighting for.”

Castiel studied Sam as Sam spoke, trying to convey his message.

“I will think on what you said, Sam.” Castiel said. “And I will watch you and your brother and see if you are right. But you will explain to me, one day, just what you are up to.” Sam nodded. “One day I will, Castiel,” he said. “But today is not that day. I need time.”

“To do what?” Castiel asked.

Sam shook his head. “I’ll tell you one day, Castiel.”

Castiel stood and approached Sam. “You are not as powerful as you think,” the angel said dangerously. “You are the Abomination. What are you planning?”

Sam stared back, barely afraid of the trench coated seraph.

“I have seen things you wouldn’t imagine,” he replied. “Things that are much more terrifying and horrible than one little angel, Castiel. You don’t frighten me, you don’t scare me. Back off and let me do what I need to do.”

The angel stepped back and glared at Sam. Sam glared back.

“I will find out what you are planning, Sam Winchester.” Castiel said. “And should it prove evil in nature, as evil as the demonic blood you have in your veins, than I will kill you myself.”

“I know you will.” Sam retorted. “But this will not harm you or Dean or anyone. I’m _saving_ you!”

Castiel watched for a moment, trying to gauge the honesty in Sam’s statement. “If that is the truth, then I will not impede you,” he said at last. “But if you are lying . . .”

“I not,” Sam said empathically.

Castiel nodded and disappeared with the sound of flapping wings. Sam, who was entirely used to it, merely fell onto his bed and fell into a deep sleep.


	3. It Almost Looked Like Heaven's Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tries to save a friend (and hopes it works).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thing that I (and others) have noticed about Sam’s character is that he hasn’t really developed since season 2. I mean, he changes to fit whatever is going on, but he’s still caught between normal life/hunting life, hate my life/deal with my life, live/die. It’s basically the same in every season. Really. It sucks. I like Sam, I just wish the writers would allow him to grow and expand like Dean. I thought the clincher would have been the Bunker and its knowledge, Sam finally finding a place he could live and be semi-happy, but that doesn’t seem to have happened yet. He’s a good character, he just needs to grow. So what I hope to do is have this be Sam’s huge ark of ‘who am I? What do I want in this world?’ and then settle in for Season 10 as a better, bigger character with more potential. I hope it works out (crosses fingers). Sorry for the rant!
> 
> This has no Beta--I'll be going over it again when it's finished.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Grand Canyon (otherwise I’d probably live there) nor do I own Supernatural.
> 
> Song for the chapter title is called ‘Heaven’s Light’ from the Hunchback of Notre Dame (I think it fits Sam quite well)

_“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.”_ —Plato 

“So,” Dean said loudly, slamming the motel door shut behind him. Sam started, having been sleeping soundly after Castiel had left. “Somethin’ I should know, Sammy?” 

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, his voice muzzy from sleep. He rolled over onto his back and propped up on his elbows. “Know about what?”

“Cas visited me last night.” Dean snapped and stomped over to his bed, nearest to the door. He sat down and glared at Sam. “He said that there was somethin’ goin’ on with you, that you were ‘wrong’. What the hell does he mean?”

“I don’t know.” Sam sat up fully, looking at Dean.

“I think you do,” Dean said. “You’ve been acting off ever since I got back from Hell. You’re lying, you’re hiding, and you’re going off and disappearing most nights. What the hell are you doing, Sammy?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Sam said. “I’ve got it under control.”

“Got what under control?” Dean said, his voice growing louder. “Jesus, Sammy, talk to me!”

“Fine,” Sam said and smiled tightly at him. “I’ll tell you as soon as you tell me about Hell.”

That shut Dean up, like Sam knew it would. His older brother was glaring so hard at Sam that Sam felt his bitter amusement tinge with guilt. This Dean should just have his brother, not some lying older version of him. But, then again, the Sam Dean had been torn from as he was dragged to Hell was little better; he had been consorting with Ruby and drinking demon blood.

Was there no time the Winchester had been 'okay'?

“I just want to know what happened to you, Sam.” Dean said. “Why are you different? You freaking know what to do on every hunt, barely have to research, you face down Castiel—a friggin’ _angel of the Lord_ —and talk cryptically all the fucking time. What could have changed you so much in four months?” Dean was hiding just how hurt and upset he was, but Sam could read this Dean like a book. He almost wanted to spill everything to Dean there and then, but held back. It would mean involving Dean and telling him about the shit future they had.

“It’s nothing, Dean, really,” he finally said. “Just leave it alone.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but after a moment he just closed his mouth and started packing. Sam wasn’t as messy as Dean, and so he only needed to gather up a few more things. They got into the Impala and drove in silence.

Sam was trying to be like his younger self. It was hard, though. It was all so long ago that he forgot just how he acted. There was so much mental difference between himself and his younger self that lying to Dean would be that much harder. This young Sam was secure in the knowledge that Dean loved him. Sam though . . . he’d given that up a while ago. He and Dean needed each other because they’d been through the same experiences and shit. They’d been to Hell and to Purgatory and Heaven. They’d faced evil no other hunters had, and they used that to survive. But after Gadreel . . . there was just something broken between them. Maybe it had broken beyond repair. Sam still loved his brother, but in the face of their life, it’d gotten shoved aside and lost.

_“Somebody changed the playbook, man, you know. It’s like what’s right is wrong and what’s wrong is more wrong.” Dean said, his expression grim and determined. “I just know that when . . . When we rode together . . .”_

_“We split the crappiness.” Sam said._

_“Yeah, so . . .” Dean trailed off, a flicker of hope sparking on his face._

_Sam shook his head slightly, barely believing this was the brother who had sold his soul for Sam, who had faced down Lucifer—the fucking Devil!—but here was his brother, convinced he had done the right thing. “Something’s broken here, Dean . . . We don’t see things the same way anymore, our roles in this whole thing. Back in that church, talking me out of boarding up Hell? Or tricking me into letting Gadreel possess me? I can’t trust you. Not the way I thought I could. Not the way I should be able to.”_

_“Whatever happened, we are family. OK?” Dean said, like he couldn’t believe that Sam didn’t understand why he’d done what he’d done. The flicker of hope on his face died and curled into ash._

_“You say that like it’s some sort of cure-all, like it can change the fact that everything that has ever gone wrong between us has been because we’re family. You want to work, let’s work. If you want to be brother . . ." Dean looked crushed. Sam, though his dull anger, caved slightly. "Those are my terms,” he finished. Sam would not back down, would not yield those terms. If Dean couldn’t keep to them, then Sam was gone._

Despite that, Sam remember the honesty of Dean in the church, when he talked Sam out of boarding up Hell. His brother still cared . . . but it was buried deep. 

“So there’s a woman who saw a ghost in her bathroom.” Dean said as he turned onto the highway. “Caught it when I was looking through a paper this morning.”

Sam remembered this case. _Act like 2008 Sam_ , he thought to himself. _Say what he would say_. “Doesn’t seem like our thing,” he said. “Is she hot?”

“No!” Dean protested. Sam shot his a look and he wilted. “ . . . Yes,” he amended. “But a ghost in a girl’s bathroom—could be dangerous.” Sam snorted. “Any freaky insights on this one, Sam?” Dean asked pointedly.

"I don't think we're dealing with Moaning Myrtle," was all Sam said.

Dean grinned lecherously. "Bet I can give Myrtle a _real_ reason to moan." 

Sam ignored his brother's broad smirk and looked out the window, watching the town they’d been staying in fall far behind.

***

Sam and Dean took care of the Wish Coin. Sam avoided dying, and had managed to talk to Wesley Mondale. He convinced Wesley to remove the coin. Wesley’s lover, Audrey, tried to get there first, but Dean managed to stop her after Sam suggested she might need to be watched. As soon as Wesley fished out the coin, Sam melted it down and he and Dean headed out.

(Before they left, Sam managed to get Dean to tell him that he did, in fact, remember Hell. He hated putting his brother through this, but he had to. Dean had to move on a heal. Sam could wait. Sam could be very patient.)

***

Sam was hustling pool when Ruby entered the bar. Sam had noticed her right away, but had kept playing. His drunk act slipped for a moment. Last time he had been pretending to be hammered. With a shudder he started the façade again, though he hadn’t touched any drink for the night. The appeal of alcohol had faded after he watched Dean practically drown in the stuff after Bobby died. Sure he drank, but he had been leery of actually getting drunk, especially since he could let something important slip now that he was in the past.

After successfully winning five hundred bucks off of his victim, he turned towards the bar and sat on the stool next to Ruby. Dean joined them shortly, looking at Ruby furiously.

“Well, you got a lot of nerve showing up anywhere near me.” Dean snarled.

“I just have some info, and then I'm gone.” Ruby said shortly.

“What?” Sam asked, looking casually around the bar. The person he’d won five hundred dollars off of was sitting morosely in a corner, being comforted by his buddies.

“I'm hearing a few whispers.” Ruby said.

“Ooh, great, demon whisperers—that’s reliable.” Dean snarked.

“Girl named Anna Milton escaped from a locked ward yesterday. The demons seem pretty keen on finding her. Apparently, some real heavy hitters turned out for the Easter-egg hunt.” Ruby told them.

“Any idea why?” Sam asked.

Ruby shook her head. “No idea. But I'm thinking that she's important, 'cause the order is to capture her alive. I just figured that whatever the deal is, you might want to find this girl before the demons do.”

“We’ll check it out.” Sam promised and grabbed Dean away before he could fight more.

“Dude! What the hell?” Dean demanded as soon as they left the bar. Sam said nothing, but headed for the Impala. He slipped into the passenger seat and waited for Dean to join him. Dean did so and they pulled out of the parking lot.

“Seriously, Sam, what’s goin’ on?” Dean snapped.

Sam resisted rolling his eyes. “Dean, Ruby is a demon. Demons can’t be trusted. However, for some reason Ruby is feeding us real facts.”

“Oh? And how do we know this Anna Milton does exist? You said yourself demons can’t be trusted just now!”

Sam glared at him. “Dean, just set your goddamned pride aside and _think_. If Milton does exist, then do you know what the means?”

“What?” Dean snarled, pushing the accelerator down harder.

“It means that there is a girl who the demons want _alive_. That might be a _bit_ important, don’t you think?” Sam's voice was ever so dry. “I’ll look her up, and then we’ll find her.”

Dean fell silent as they drove on, and Sam squashed any guilt or remorse down until it was firmly tucked away in his mind.

***

Sam and Dean had interviewed the psychologist and Sam had researched Anna as soon as they went to a café for dinner. He then called the hospital and set up an appointment with Anna’s therapist. He and Dean were currently looking around Anna’s room. Dean was taking in all the details, but Sam was barely looking at anything. He’d seen it already, and was busy trying to convince the psychologist to give him Anna’s sketchbook. Eventually it was handed over and Sam flipped through it, seeing the semi-familiar pencil drawings of Anna’s church window.

“Come on,” Sam said. “Do you mind if I take this?” He asked the psychologist. After the hesitant nod of approval, Sam managed to get Dean out of the hospital.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

Sam simply shoved the sketchbook at him. Dean’s eyebrows rose as he saw comments like ‘Raising of the Witness’ scribbled on the pages. He looked up at Sam, eyes narrowed and calculating.

“So this chick is legit?” he asked. “She’s actually hearing angels?”

“I think so.” Sam said. “And do you see the drawings of the windows?” Dean flipped to the end and nodded. “Looks a lot like a church window, doesn’t it? If you were being hunted down by demons, where would you go to feel safe? Especially if you grew up in a religious household.”

“Church,” Dean said. “Great work, Holmes. We should go interview her parents and see where her church was.”

Sam remembered their bodies and decided that was a delay they didn’t want to have. Instead he pulled out a pack of papers. “No need. Her mom and dad had to fill out some forms—one of the things they had to fill out was where they worked.”

Dean nodded and they bundled into the car and Dean threw it in reverse. Sam guided him to the church, its coordinates up on his phone, and they entered cautiously, guns drawn.

They searched the church, looking in each one carefully and quickly. Sam knew Anna was in the attic, but Dean was already suspicious and he needed to back off for a bit. When their sweep finally took them to the attic, Sam quietly opened the door.

“Anna?” he called out. “My name is Sam, and this is my brother Dean. We aren’t here to hurt you.”

“Sam? Sam Winchester?” Anna’s soft voice asked from within the room. Sam and Dean exchanged a look and slipped into the room.

“Yes,” Sam said.

“And you're Dean. The Dean?” Anna’s voice continued.

Dean looked startled. “Well, yeah. The Dean, I guess,” he raised an eyebrow at Sam, but turned his gaze snapped back when Anna stepped into the light. 

She had a white tee shirt on and plain light blue cotton pants. He red hair hung limply around her face, and her brown eyes were sunken into her face. The last time Sam had seen her was when she had traveled back in time to kill their parents so that Sam was never born. Here she looked so innocent, oblivious of the crap she was going to experience.

Sam had connected the dots a few years ago. Cas had been controlled by Naomi, tortured until he was little more than a puppet to her whims. The same thing must have happened to Anna, and Sam wished he could have protected her from that. What he needed to do, as soon as she remembered, was tell her to go far away and hide. Stay away from everything because there really wasn’t anything she could help with that Sam didn’t already know or couldn’t find out quickly.

“It's really you.” Anna said in a hushed whisper. “Oh, my god. The angels talk about you. You were in Hell, but Castiel pulled you out, and some of them think you can help save us. And some of them don't like you at all. They talk about you all the time lately. I feel like I know you.”

“So, you talk to angels?” Dean said dubiously.

Anna gave a quick, nervous laugh. “Oh, no. No, no way. Um, they probably don't even know I exist. I just kind of . . . overhear them.”

“Over hear them? Like what they’re saying?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, they talk, and sometimes I just . . .” Anna paused, probably knowing how odd this sounded. “. . . hear them in my head.”

“Like . . . right now?” Dean asked and looked up at the ceiling, almost like he expected to see Castiel and Uriel plastered to the rafters, listening intently to what they were saying.

“Not right this second, but a lot. And I can't shut them out—there are so many of them.” Anna’s arms wrapped around her torso and she hugged herself for a moment.

“So, they lock you up with a case of the crazies when really you were just . . . tuning in to angel radio?” Dean said. Anna shot him a grateful look.

“Yes. Thank you,” she said.

“Look,” Sam said. “Now that we’ve established Anna is not crazy, it might be a good idea to leave. Demons are after her and we don’t know what else. Let’s get her into the car and head out.”

“Good idea, Sam.” Dean said. 

They ushered Anna out of the church and into the Impala. Together they slid into the front while Anna crawled into the back. As they drove away, they heard a loud crash behind them. Sam and Dean twisted into their seats and saw smoke rising from where the church had been.

“Good call.” Dean said and slid _Led Zeppelin_ in.

***

“So,” Dean said casually. “When did you start hearing angels?”

“I can tell you exactly—September 18th.” Anna said.

Sam saw Dean’s face fall. “The day I got out of Hell,” his brother said softly, to no one in particular.

Anna didn’t seem to have gotten the hint and carried on. “First words I heard, clear as a bell—‘Dean Winchester is saved’.”

“What do you think?” Dean asked Sam, glancing between the two passengers in his car. Anna was curled up in a corner, head resting on the glass, staring at the sky.

“What d’you mean?” Sam asked quietly.

“I mean,” Dean waved a hand at Anna. “Hearing angels talking, demons wanting her alive. What d’you make of it?”

Sam shrugged. “I think we’re missing something,” he said softly. “There’s something here that we don’t know.”

“Think she’s hiding something?” Dean asked.

“No.” Sam shook his head. “But I think even she doesn’t know the whole truth.”

“Well, this is getting to be too much like X-Files for my liking.” Dean muttered. “Where to?”

“Bobby’s?” Sam suggested. “We can ward off any demons that are trying to find us along the way.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dean said and accelerated.

***

They pulled up at a gas station an hour away from Bobby’s. Sam stayed with the pump while Dean ducked in to get a few snacks and bottles of water. Sam picked out a fake credit card with some money left on it and ran it, paying for the gas. When he thought that Dean wasn’t looking, he slipped a small knife onto the floor of the Impala, near where Anna was napping.

“Dude, where’d Ruby go?” Dean asked as he returned. “I mean, I’m glad the bitch isn’t here, but didn’t she used to get more involved in our stuff?”

Sam shrugged and hung up the pump. “Yeah,” he said. “But we didn’t need her. She didn’t come.”

Dean opened his mouth to continue asking questions when a flutter of wings filled the air. Castiel and Uriel appeared next to them, Castiel looking at Sam with suspicion and Uriel at Anna with a dark, sickening pleasure. Dean was oblivious.

“Please tell me you're here to help,” he said.

“We're here for Anna.” Castiel said bluntly. He was still looking at Sam.

“Here for her like . . . here for her?” Dean asked, confused.

“Stop talking. Give her to us.” Uriel ordered. The black man he was wearing looked like he would have been a man with a good nature who loved to laugh, but the angel wearing him was obviously not in the mood. Sam could hold his own in a fight against angels. There had been a few civil wars in Heaven in his time, and he had gotten pretty good at fighting them. He also had had not only Lucifer but Gadreel in his mind. Though the angels could access all of his thoughts, Sam had seen what they had seen, and with Gadreel at least, he could see some of their memories and thought processes. He could think like an angel, if he had to.

Sam and Dean Winchester of 2014 could kill angels, demons, and anything in between.

But Sam usually had holy oil or an angel blade ready, and here he had nothing because it would be suspicious. Angels weren’t dying left, right, and upside down. Blades weren’t common. And he shouldn’t know about holy oil yet.

It was frustrating.

“What do you want from her?” Sam asked, knowing the answer and hoping that maybe this time around it’d be different.

“She has to die.” Castiel said.

Fuck.

“No, she doesn’t,” Sam said. “Castiel, don’t do this.”

“She's worse than the abomination you've been screwing. Now give us the girl.” Uriel said coldly.

“You're some heartless sons of bitches, you know that?” Dean snapped, moving to stand in between the Impala and the angels.

“As a matter of fact, we are,” Castiel said without emotion. “And?”

“I don’t care what you think of Anna,” Sam said darkly. “But this is her second chance. She’s different from what you think you know—she’s innocent.”

“She is far from innocent.” Castiel said.

“Is that your opinion?” Sam spat. “What right do you have to judge?”

“I have every right.” Castiel moved into Sam’s personal space. “What would you know of Right, Sam Winchester?”

“More than you, apparently.” Sam said coolly. “I may have made some mistakes, but I don’t kill someone just because they are abomination.”

“You _hunt_ abominations.” Castiel said.

“No.” Sam said. “We hunt evil. We hunt creatures that hurt for pleasure or gain. We don’t hunt them because they live; we hunt them because of what they choose to do.”

“Then Dean should kill you!” Uriel said. He stepped forwards. “You are evil!”

Before Sam could respond, white light fill the lot and Sam shielded his eyes. When the light was gone, so were the angels. Dean was left looking dumbstruck, and Anna was sitting in the Impala, awake and alert.

“Are they—are they gone?” Anna said and opened the door to peer out. Sam could see a bloody sigil draw on the door, trickles of blood pooling onto the pavement.

“Did you kill them?” Dean asked, looking around.

“No. I sent them away . . . far away.” Her eyes became distant.

“You want to tell me how?” Dean asked.

“That just popped in my head. I don't know how I did it. I just did it.” She and Dean both looked at the mark in the Impala. “I’ll wash it off.” She said meekly.

“It’s fine.” Dean said gruffly. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

He started up the car and they peeled out.

***

Bobby let them in and led them down to the panic room. Anna sat on the bed at the edge of the room, looking around at the weapons, the books, and the large fan rotating above.

“Iron walls drenched in salt. Demons can't even touch the joint.” Dean said proudly.

“Which I find racist, by the way.” Ruby’s voice said. Sam, Dean, Anna and Bobby looked over to find the raven haired demon standing just outside the door, avoiding the Devil’s Trap.

“Write your congressman.” Dean said unsympathetically.

“Here.” Ruby said and tossed a couple of bags at Sam and Dean. Sam caught his and held it between his fingers. He wasn’t sure if he trusted Ruby’s bags, and would probably made new ones for himself, Anna, Bobby and Dean later on.

“Hex bags?” Dean asked, looking at the bags he’d caught.

“Extra-crunchy. They'll hide us from angels, demons, all comers.” Ruby said.

“Thanks.” Dean said, then turned to Anna and handed her a bag. “Don't lose this. So, Anna, what's playing on angel radio? Anything useful?”

“It's quiet. Dead silence.” Anna said.

“Good. That's not troubling at all.” Dean looked at Sam. Sam shrugged.

“We're in trouble, huh? You guys are scared?” Anna asked.

“Nah.” Dean said flippantly.

“I’ll be back. Play nice.” Bobby said and left, edging out past Ruby. Sam followed and called out to Dean, who left Ruby watching over Anna. Funny, a demon watching over an angel . . . sounded like a bad romance or something.

***

“So,” Dean said when he came up a little bit later. “What’s the scoop on Anna?”

“Parents are normal. Rich and Amy Milton—a church deacon and a housewife.” Sam said, clicking through sites. “When Anna was about two and a half, she was convinced her dad wasn’t her real dad.”

“Who was? The plumber, hmm? A little snaking the pipes?” Dean said playfully.

“Not porn, dude.” Sam said. “No, she just kept saying that her real dad was so angry at her, he wanted to kill her.”

“Kind of heavy for a 2-year-old.” Dean commented.

Sam shrugged. “She saw a shrink, grew up normal.”

“Until now. So, what's she hiding?” Dean mused.

“Why don't you just ask me to my face?” Anna asked.

“Nice job watching her.” Dean hissed at Ruby, who held up her hands.

“I'm watching her,” the demon pointed out.

“Sorry Anna,” Sam shrugged. “We didn’t want to bother you. Anything you want to tell us?”

“About what?” Anna asked.

“The angels said you were guilty of something. Why would they say that?”

“You tell me. Tell me why my life has been leveled . . .” Anna paused and looked at the screen, where Sam had it up to the obituaries, announcing the deaths of her parents. “No . . .” She said softly and sank to the floor.

“We’re sorry, Anna.” Sam said. “We didn’t hear about it until now.”

Anna rocked on the ground, head buried in her arms. “I just want to know what’s going on,” she whispered, barely audible.

“We can find out.” Sam said.

Anna lifted her head, tears in her eyes. “How?”

***

Pamela was more than happy to help out, and when she arrived at Bobby’s, Sam pulled her aside.

“She’s an angel,” he whispered, knowing she could hear him. “She Fell and was born human.”

“Friend in the future?” She asked. Sam shook his head.

“Sort of. She’s dead.”

“Yikes.” Pamela said. “But somehow I'm not surprised. Well, I’ll go through with it. Now that I know what I’m looking for, it should be easier.”

“Thanks, Pamela.” Sam said.

“How’s changing the future going?” Pamela asked.

Sam laughed shortly. “Dean and Bobby want to know what’s up with me.”

Pamela nodded. “Well, from what I saw of your younger self’s thoughts, you two aren’t very much alike anymore.”

“I don’t know.” Sam said and leaned against the wall. “I think we are.”

Flames licked the corners of his vision and cold laughter echoed in his ears. 

***

“Here it is,” Sam said. “In March of '85. There was a meteorite which vanished in the night sky over northwestern Ohio. It was sighted nine months before Anna was born, and she was born in that part of Ohio.”

“You're pretty buff for a nerd.” Ruby said, and Sam fought down a shudder. He shot her a weak grin and focused his attention on the screen again.

“Look, I think it was Anna . . . and here, same time—another meteor over Kentucky.” Sam continued, pointing out another article.

“And that's her Grace?” Ruby asked.

“I think so.” Sam said.

“All right. That just narrows it down to an entire state.” Ruby said.

“But it’s a start.” Sam said and got up, stretching.

“Sam . . . I'm sorry.” Ruby said. If Sam closed his eyes, he could almost believe she was being sincere.

“For what?” Sam asked, trying to keep the hatred out of his voice.

“For bringing you this mess. If I had known, I would have kept my trap shut.” Ruby said.

Sam shrugged. “We’ll work it out.” He said.

“Not this time. You do not want to get between these two armies. It's Godzilla and Mothra. If one side doesn't get us, the other one will.”

“I know.” Sam said and turned to look at her. “You think I don’t? I know you’re scared of angels—”

“Forget the angels. It's Alastair I'm scared of.” Ruby said.

“Alastair?” Sam asked. He remembered the demon, the one that had broken Dean and Sam killed. Sam thought quickly about how he would kill Alastair this time around. Alastair was not quite as powerful as the Knights of Hell, but the knife didn’t work that well. Sam could trap him and kill him slowly. That seemed to be the best option.

“He’s the one who blew up the church.” Ruby informed him. “Practically the grand inquisitor downstairs. Picasso with a razor.”

“Sounds lovely,” Sam said sarcastically. Ruby raised an eyebrow at him, looking pointedly at Sam. “What?” he asked.

“You should pull him out and throw him back in the pit . . . if you weren't so out of shape.”

“Out of shape.” Sam said flatly.

“Your abilities—you’re getting flabby,” she observed.

“Okay,” Sam said slowly.

“Sam, you know what you got to do. I haven’t had a session with you since Dean came out of Hell—that was months ago. If you want to take down Lilith, this is the way to do it.”

“No, I'm not doing that anymore.” Sam said.

“Sam . . .” Ruby sighed.

“Forget it,” Sam interrupted. “I won’t.”

“Well, then you better pray that Anna gets her groove back, or we're all dead.” Ruby turned away, and Sam saw suspicion in her eyes. Sam needed to do something about all of the demons, fast. Ruby was catching on quickly. Soon he wouldn’t be able to hide from her and he’d have to kill her.

Which wouldn't raise alarm bells in Heaven and Hell _at all_. 

***

Sam directed the others out to Kentucky, leading them to the oak tree that had mysteriously grown into something that looked centuries old in six months. Dean made a crack about a demon and angel in his back seat and Sam is thrown into a memory of a warehouse, barely conscious, words echoing into his head like a shout at the end of a long tunnel.

_“A demon and an angel walk into my brother. Sounds like a bad joke.”_

It hasn’t happened yet, in this timeline, and hopefully never will. But Sam can’t help edging away from Dean, an instinctual urge to _runhidebeg_ jolted in his gut because all he could see in front of him, for a moment, was the Dean who tricked him and hurt him in ways that he couldn’t even begin to fully understand, burrowing into layers of his psyche that he kept locked away.

“Hey, Sam, are you okay?” Anna’s quiet voice asked. Sam shook his head to clear it and gave her a tight smile.

“I will be,” he promised and turned to face forwards again. Dean shot a worried look at him that he ignored.

Sam knew that he was leading them to where the Grace touched down. He also knew it wouldn’t be there when they reached it. He knew who had it. All he had to do was wait. He could afford to let this one play out.

***

Sam wasn’t able to help after they left the field. He told them of his plan—get the angels and demons together to fight over Anna, then Anna gets her Grace back—and then lost track of everybody. Conversations were occurring all over without him; Ruby went off somewhere for Alistair, Dean gave up Anna to Uriel, and Sam had caught up on sleep, knowing it was up to everyone else. Dean refused to tell him about the conversation he’d had with Uriel afterwards. Anna was acting very calm about being taken in by the angels, and Sam appreciated her bravery. He hoped that she wouldn’t have to suffer torture again this time around. They had stopped at an abandon barn that Sam remembered from last time. He was sitting on a haystack, looking at the sky, a bottle of beer in on hand. Ever since his period of insanity and seeing Lucifer, Sam did not sleep very much anymore; neither did _his_ brother. They had chronic insomnia. The nightmares were too much for them, and they usually waited until they couldn’t stay awake anymore.

His phone buzzed softly, and he glanced at the ID before answering.

“Bobby,” he greeted.

His pseudo-father’s gruff voice filled his ear. _"Sam.”_

“What’s up?” he asked and raised his beer bottle to his lips.

_“Didn’t get a chance to talk to ya when you were here.”_ Bobby said. _“But both me an’ Dean are worried ‘bout you.”_

“Oh?”

_“You’re actin' odd,”_ Bobby said. _“Is somethin’ goin’ on tha’ me an’ Dean need to know ‘bout?”_

“No.” Sam said. “Just trust me, Bobby. I’m acting odd for a very good reason.”

_“So you know you’re acting odd.”_ Bobby said.

“’Course.” Sam said, and cracked a brittle smile. “I know what I’m doing, Bobby. Don’t worry about me.”

_“I always worry ‘bout you two.”_ Bobby snapped. _“Don’t end up dead, idjit.”_

“I won’t, Bobby.” Sam said and hung up.

He sipped at his beer and continued to watch the sky.

***

The fight for Anna acted out exactly like Sam had remembered it, and he closed his eyes as pure white light filled the room. Alastair had disappeared, along with his horde of demons. Uriel and Castiel gave her up as well, choosing to flee rather than face Anna’s wrath.

***

“I can't believe we made it out of there.” Dean said later as they sat on the Impala with a couple of beers.

Sam laughed softly.

“I know you heard him.” Dean said, not looking at Sam.

“Who?” Sam asked.

“Alistair. What he said . . . about how I had promise.”

“I did.”

“You’re not curious?” Dean asked, shifting slightly in surprise. He turned his head to face away from Sam.

“You’re not talking about Hell, and I’m not pushing,” Sam said. “You don’t need to tell me, Dean.”

“It wasn't four months, you know.” Dean managed. “It was four months up here, but down there . . . I don't know. Time's different. It was more like 40 years.”

“Dean . . .” Sam said softly because he _knew_ , and he knew and it wasn’t fair and Dean shouldn’t have to go through this again . . . only it wasn’t again, was it? This was the first time. Fucking time travel.

“They, uh . . . They sliced and carved and tore at me in ways that you . . . Until there was nothing left. And then, suddenly . . . I would be whole again . . . like magic . . . just so they could start in all over. And Alastair . . . at the end of every day . . . every one . . . he would come over. And he would make me an offer. To take me off the rack . . . if I put souls on . . . if I started the torturing. And every day, I told him to stick it where the sun shines. For 30 years, I told him. But then I couldn't do it anymore, Sammy. I couldn't." Dean let out a shuddering breath. "And I got off that rack. God help me, I got right off it, and I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls.” Dean was crying now, Sam could hear him. “The—the things that I did to them . . .”

“Most of them were probably in Hell for a good reason, Dean.” Sam said softly. “And you held out for thirty years. That’s more than I probably could.” More than he had. He had broken within a few hours after the pissed off Lucifer and Michael had found him in the Cage.

“How I feel . . . This . . . inside me . . . I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing.” Dean’s shoulders hunched and Sam was startled by the bloom of emotion that welled up inside of him. For so long his emotions had been deadened, asleep inside of him. Ever since Gadreel had left, all Sam had felt was hurt and rage and a deadly calm. But now empathy and guilt and love were coming forth again, and Sam nearly fell off the Impala under the force of it.

He reached out a hand and clasped Dean’s shoulder, using that leverage to swing around and hug his brother. Dean stiffened for a moment before apparently deciding to ignore the chick-flick moment and take comfort where he could get it.

Sam held his brother as his brother cried and cried.

***

It was later, at Bobby’s, that Sam sent out the prayer. He wasn’t sure if Anna would answer him, but he’d cloaked himself in Enochian sigils and hoped that no angel had noticed him missing.

A flutter of wings behind him. “Sam.” Anna said. Sam turned to see her as she had been, wide eyed and red haired.

“Anna,” he said cordially. “Thank you for coming.”

“Why’d you pray?” she asked and glanced around. “You’re cloaked in Enochian. How did you come by those sigils?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Sam said. “But I have a favor to ask.”

“You helped me get my Grace back,” she said. “I'll listen. What is it?”

“Don’t come back.” Sam said bluntly. “Do not visit Castiel.”

Anna’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean? Sam, what’s going on?”

“Castiel is a soldier of Heaven.” Sam said. “Above all, he will follow orders. If you come near him, even to warn him about something, he will turn you in.”

Anna shook her head. “How do you know?”

_To Hell with it_ , Sam thought. “I see bits of the future,” he said as if admitting an enormous secret. “And I saw that. You come back within the next few months; you will be taken to Heaven’s jail and tortured.”

Anna blinked, breathless. “Thank you for telling me,” she whispered.

Sam gave her a tight smile. “You should leave, before they detect you,” he said. “I’ll try and let you know what’s happening, but stay away as much as possible. If you have warnings, tell Dean and I. Not Castiel.”

Anna bit her lip and disappeared. Sam sighed and left, heading back to Bobby’s, hoping against hope that this time, maybe Anna could have a happy ending.


	4. Sometimes (I Pretend I’m Alright)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a bit of action, and we get to see the scene where Sam finds Demon!Dean. Also, more of Castiel! Oh yeah, remember season 7? Sam was insane. You, my dear and wonderful readers, already know this. I’m going to expand on his insanity a bit, because he was insane. It messes with minds and warps reality. It’s not going to be big, but I do mention it in a conversation in this chapter. Fair warning. 
> 
> Also, I'm not sure if I'm entirely happy with this chapter, so it may be tweaked a bit. Please let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Empire State building, though that would be cool. Nor do I own Supernatural, which sucks.
> 
> Title is from the song ‘Echo’ by Jason Walker.

_“It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.”_ —John Steinbeck 

Sam entered the classroom. 

He and Dean had just taken care of Dirk McGregor. When trying to ‘figure’ out who the ghost was, Sam had passed over Barry, not even telling Dean about it. He had laid that ghost to rest a long time ago. No need to disrupt his friend's rest. They had instead looked into people he knew who had died and had found Dirk.

The last month had been busy. They had taken care of the feral children and the magicians. Ruby had approached Sam several times about continuing his ‘education’. Sam had turned her down, and he saw her growing suspicion with worry.

He was trying to sort through the sheer amount of information from the Campbell Compound, looking for ways to get back to his time and for helping his Dean. The Campbell’s didn’t hunt demons often—they had been _working_ with demons—and so though there was demon lore, there wasn’t much and absolutely none about the Mark of Cain (which didn’t surprise Sam in the slightest). Sam gave up on that scope quickly, resigning himself to focusing on time travel. It would be easier if he had an angel on his side, but Castiel wasn’t his friend right now, and he didn’t want to drag Anna into his problem. Gabriel was completely out of the question—Sam didn’t think the archangel would be very sympathetic to his cause, especially after hearing that Sam had gotten him and all of his brothers and sisters killed.

Angels were a dying race in his time. Only a few were left; the obscure ones who had little power and little will of their own.

So in between cases, Sam worked on time travel, frustrating Dean with cagey answers and late nights in front of the computer. Dean stopped pestering him for answers soon enough and instead watched him with sharp eyes, trying to figure out his little brother on his own. Sam knew time travel hadn't crossed his brother's mind; their lives were weird, but not _that_ weird . . . _yet_.

Sam kept an eye out on his old school, and when the odd killings happened, he directed Dean there. Dean in gym shorts was too good to pass up, and therefore Sam allowed Dean to drag him along on the undercover work. He managed to break into the school bus just before school let out one afternoon and burn the book. Dean shot him a long look, but said nothing. Sam could practically see him storing that information away to use on him later, when Dean was finally ready to come down heavy on him.

Now Sam was standing just outside of his old classroom, and there was Mr. Wyatt, grading papers. Sam wasn’t sure if he wanted to go through this again, but here he was, with a new understanding of the world and a second chance. He might as well.

“Mr. Wyatt?” he called out softly.

His old teacher looked up. “Yes?”

“My name is Sam Winchester,” Sam said, moving into the room. “I used to be in your class. I wrote a story about a werewolf.”

“Right, that horror story.” Mr. Wyatt nodded.

“Yeah,” Sam said and ducked his head down. “My life’s been like one long horror story,” he muttered.

“What?” Mr. Wyatt asked.

“I just wanted to thank you,” Sam looked up again. “You told me that I didn't have to go into the family business. You said I should make my own choices.”

“And did you?” Mr. Wyatt asked.

Sam smiled brokenly. “I went to college because of you,” he said instead of answering. “I did go into the family business, however.”

“Because you wanted to?” The question seemed simple.

Sam remembered how desperate he had been to get out of this life, but how it had soon become his lifeline. He honestly had no idea what he’d do without hunting, mostly because he knew that a normal life could only ever end badly. Amelia had been a nice break, and much-needed escape, but he had given her up so that she could be happy.

 _Leaving Kevin to rot while you were at it,_ a voice hissed in his ear.

Sam closed his eyes and shuddered slightly.

He thought back to the alternate universe where people watched his life, where he and Dean were actors, unaware that the people they were portraying were real. That the shit they enjoyed on the screen was happening to them, that they had survived it all. Sam had looked some of it up, and each episode was uncannily accurate. To think that it was all fun and games for those people . . .

To think they enjoyed watching his life, Dean's life go to hell. It made him realize that his life was screwed and messed up and he couldn’t change that, ever.

“Because I needed to.” Sam said eventually, heart heavy. “But your advice helped me through quite a bit, so thank you.”

“Well, you know, the only thing that really matters is that you're happy.” Mr. Wyatt said warmly. Then he frowned as he took in Sam’s haggard appearance and sunken eyes and broken smile. “Are you happy, Sam?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Sam said. “But thank you, once again. Have a good rest of your life.”

“Sam?” Mr. Wyatt asked and moved towards the door. Sam slipped out, and by the time Mr. Wyatt got there, he was gone.

***

“So,” Dean said. “I told you about Hell.”

They were in the motel room after wrapping up Dirk’s ghost case. Dean was stretched out on the bed, one arm supporting his head while the other held a beer. Sam was sitting at the small table, alternating between looking for their next gig and writing in a small leather notebook acquired in a bookstore somewhere in Nevada.

“Yeah,” Sam said.

“So you gonna tell me what’s up with you?” Dean asked.

Sam stiffened. His thoughts were racing, wondering if he _should_ tell Dean now. But how would Dean react? Would he impede Sam and his quest to stop the Apocalypse, wanting his brother back? His brother, the younger Sam, who would ruin everything without trying, who would dissolve their family bonds until there was nothing left but hurt and anger and bitterness?

Most of all, would he want Dean to see what— _who_ —he had become?

“Dean,” He said and looked over at his brother. “You really, really don’t want to know.”

“See,” Dean said and sat up, shuffling along the bedspread until his back hit the head board. “That just makes me want to know more.”

Sam shook his head. “Please Dean. It’s nothing serious,” he lied, hating himself. “It’s just . . . I’m still working on it. Let me have a few more weeks. I need more time.”

“Time for what?” Dean demanded. Sam could see it—see it in Dean's eyes. His brother didn't believe that whatever was going on with him was 'nothing serious'.

Sam shook his head. So much for that tactic. “Dean, please, drop it. There is nothing you can do.”

“Why won’t you just tell me?” Dean shouted, standing up.

Sam stood, too. “Because I don’t want you to get hurt!” he said. “Dean, this isn’t something I can afford to mess up!”

“I thought you said it was nothin’!” Dean said. “So help me God, Sammy, you tell me what the hell is going on . . .”

“Or what, Dean?” Sam sneered. “This is my problem, not yours! Will you leave it alone?”

“No!” Dean snarled. “I went to Hell for you—the least you could do is tell me what happened when I was gone that made you so different!”

“Nothing happened!” Sam said.

“We both know that’s a lie,” Dean retorted. “How ‘bout tellin’ me the truth?”

“I want to protect you, Dean.” Sam said. “It’s nothing that would put me in danger. My life and wellbeing is not on the line. Just leave it alone.”

“How can I, Sammy?” Dean’s voice shook slightly; barely noticeable. “You can’t even trust me.”

Sam’s vision swam with black eyes and a cold smile. “Not with this, Dean,” he said weakly. The fight drained out of him. “Not yet. Not right now. One day, maybe.”

Sam left the room, Dean making no move to stop him as Sam walked into the evening light. He passed the rest of the motel and wandered down an alley. There was no particular pattern to where he walked, so long as it was _away_. As he turned down yet another alley, something caught his eye. He walked cautiously towards it, pulling his handgun out and holding it pointed away, but ready.

It was a small ball of blue/white light that hovered about four feet off the ground. As Sam watched the light got bigger and bigger, the light shining brighter and brighter, making the rest of the world seem faded and grey, like he was back in Purgatory. He wasn’t sure what it was—he certainly didn’t remember this happening—but he’d be ready for it.

What—or, rather who—came out surprised him.

One very familiar trench coated angel.

“Cas!” Sam called out, tucking the gun away and running to the downed angel. His friend had fallen out of the portal and seemed barely conscious.

“Sam,” the gravelly voice was low and worn, causing Sam’s brow to furrow in concern. “It is you, Sam, right?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Sam said.

Cas frowned up at him. "You are young."

Sam smiled. "It's still 2014 me."

At the mention of the year they were from, Cas relaxed. Sam glanced over him, trying to see if the angel was injured. “You all right?” he asked.

“No.” Cas said. “What happened to you? When you told me what had happened to Dean, I came, but your body was empty of you.”

“Time travel.” Sam said. “Or mind-swap. I guess it’s both—that's why I look like this. How did you find me?”

“It was hard.” Cas said. “But the Bunker is well equipped with information, and I found a spell to take me to you, where or whenever you were. I left Hanna in charge of Heaven and I warded the Bunker against demons and angels. No one should be able to get in, and I made sure no human could break in. I didn’t know where you had gone, and I thought it best if I went to you—I didn’t. I didn’t want to mess up or bring you back damaged.”

“So you followed me,” Sam said. “Into the unknown.”

“I seem to do that quite a bit,” Cas observed with a slight smile.

Sam heaved Cas off the ground and started to walk him to the alley wall, where he leaned Cas against it. As soon as he made sure the sort-of angel was comfortable, he hurried to the street and unlocked a small faded blue car. Starting it up, he raced back to Cas and started to drag him to it. “Thanks Cas.” Sam said. “But how are you going to deal with today? There’s another you out there. Won’t he sense you?”

“I am so low powered I am basically human again.” Cas admitted. “I do not think there is a chance that my past self will sense me in this condition unless he was looking. I asked Hanna to burn the Enochian sigils into my ribs, so I cannot be sensed by angels. I also got the anti-possession tattoo that both you and Dean had, so that no demons can get me.” He lowered his shirt to show the new tattoo displayed on his chest, just above his heart.

“Good thinking,” Sam said. “But you didn’t need the tattoo. You could have used an amulet.”

“Dean is now a demon who happened to be a hunter,” Cas said heavily. “I do not think he thinks I would have gotten a tattoo, so I did. Tattoos are much better protection than necklaces.”

"Not as permanent as we thought."

"Kevin's mother was unfortunate," Cas agreed. "But tattoos are still better."

“Maybe get one sewn into your clothes?” Sam suggested. Cas shook his head.

“I will not be wearing the same thing every day anymore,” he said. “Angels can do that, humans less so.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “You have a point.”

"What of you? Are you doing okay?” Cas frowned as a trickle of blood rolled out of his nose. He wiped his hand across his face and grimace.

“I'm fine, for the given value,” Sam's eyes flickered to the blood on Cas' hand. “Are you okay?”

“No.” Cas said. “I have severely depleted my energy stores using this spell, but after some sleep I should be fine.”

“Okay,” Sam said. He was willing to bet it would take longer than one night for Cas to be 'fine', but he didn't want to push his friend too much at the moment. “What happened to my body in the future?”

“It is lying in a summoning circle.” Cas said. “I have the spell ready to bring it here. I did not want to bring it here until I could get to safety and protect it. So if it is mind-swap, then your past self is asleep within you mind.”

Sam grimaced. “I know he is. I’ve been with Pamela, the psychic, a couple of times. When younger Sam wakes up, he’s going to be pissed. I woke up the morning Dean got out of Hell. It’s been months. To him—younger Sam—he’s still screwing Ruby and hunting Lilith because Dean is dead.”

Cas looked around. “It’s 2008?” he asked.

“2009 now.” Sam said. “I’ve been here a while.”

Cas nodded again. “If you take me to the Bunker then I can finish the spell and summon your body here. A little more searching will probably find us a solution to getting your mind out of your younger self’s head and into your own.”

Sam laughed and opened the car door to push Cas inside. “I think we’d both like that. I think I sense him, sometimes, in my mind.”

“It would not surprise me.” Cas said. “Does Dean know about you?”

“No.” Sam said, and rounded the car to get in the driver’s seat.

“Why not?” Cas asked as soon as he got settled.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Cas, we come from a jacked-up future. This Dean got out of Hell and is now having angels sniffing everywhere. He’s never faced Lucifer or Death. He’s never had to deal with my soulless self or with my insanity. You haven’t betrayed us yet, and you haven’t run away from us, either—hell, you're Heaven's good little soldier right now. He’s never fought Dick or befriended Benny. He’s never helped me with the Trials. He never made the deal with Gadreel. He’s never had the Mark. This Dean . . . he’s not innocent, but he’s damn more innocent than the one I have.”

“You’re protecting him.” Cas said.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Yeah I am.”

“It must be hard lying to him.” Cas said. “Would it not be easier to tell him the truth?”

“Like he’d believe me.” Sam said bitterly. “Cas, this Dean is starting to talk about Ruby and why I’m hanging out with her.”

“Ruby is still alive?” Cas asked. Sam shot him a glance.

“I wanted to keep things mostly the same,” he explained. “So people wouldn’t be suspicious.”

“The blood?” Cas demanded.

“I have her give it to me in bottles, which I then empty later when she isn’t there. I don’t—I would _never_ —drink from her again.”

“So she thinks you are still under the influence.” Cas said in understanding, settling back into the seat as the car moved forward.

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed. “I think I portray the effects fairly well.”

“I’m sure you do fine,” Cas said. “You have met my younger self, correct?”

Sam laughed. “Yeah. You don’t like me very much.”

“I was told you were pure evil.” Cas said, shifting uncomfortably. It was refreshing, seeing this Cas again. Sam had forgotten just how stiff the Castiel he had first met had been. It was relieving to see the angel he had grown used to once more. “You did not meet expectations,” Cas added dryly.

“I freed Lucifer,” Sam said. “I consorted with Ruby. I'm pretty sure I'm at least partly evil.”

“You thought you were doing the right thing.” Cas said. “That is much different from _being_ evil.”

Sam said nothing. “Dean and I had a fight before I went to the alley,” he said finally said as he navigated the streets. “He wants to know why I’ve been acting differently.”

Cas reached over a laid a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. “You should tell him. Head back to the motel. Get out. I’ll drive myself to the Bunker. Where are we?”

“Nebraska.” Sam said. “You only have one state to go through. Can you make it?”

“If I tire I will sleep,” Cas assured him. “I spent months on my own as a homeless human. I picked up skills that I had not had before. I can drive to Lebanon by myself.”

Sam nodded. He pulled up near a gas station. “Stay here,” he told his friend and ran inside. Using some spare cash he had in his pocket, he bought a burner phone. Heading back out, he jotted down his phone number on the back of the receipt. “I’ll activate your phone when I get to the motel. You know how to use this?”

Cas nodded. “I learned how to use phones from what Metatron passed to me.”

“What?” Sam asked, confused.

“Metatron implanted knowledge of every book, movie, and TV show he watched into my mind.” Cas said.

“Which is why you got the Death Star reference.” Sam said. Cas nodded. 

“He also added bits about being human. I know how to work a phone and a car and a television and more. I will call you later.” With that, Cas took the phone and slipped it into one of his pockets.

“Okay.” Sam said. Then he realized something. “Cas, you can’t get into the Bunker, you need the key.”

Cas reached into his pocket and withdrew the key. “I have it. I spent a few days in the Bunker, trying to decide what I needed. I found it in your room.”

Sam smiled. “You thought of everything, it looks like.”

Cas nodded. “I will call you later. We have much to discuss, but perhaps here is not the place. When can you get to the Bunker?”

“Without suspicion? Whenever—and if—I tell Dean,” Sam looked away from Cas for a moment, unable to face him. “But if I keep doing what I’ve been doing, than I’m not sure. Whenever Dean is out and about doing—other stuff.”

“You mean sex. I had almost forgotten he used to do that,” Cas looked unbearably tired and unfathomably old. “It’s been a long year.”

“You’re telling me,” Sam agreed.

“You should tell Dean.” Cas said, bringing the conversation back to the earlier topic. “I know you and our Dean are not on best of terms right now, but this Dean deserves the truth about his brother.”

Sam snorted. “Our Dean is a demon,” he reminded Cas. “We wouldn’t be on the best of terms.” Sam sighed and looked at Cas for a long while. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “I just want to save him from all the crap that’s about to come.”

“Then do so,” Cas said. “Tell him only what he needs to know.”

“Think I should tell Bobby? Anna? Your younger self?” Sam asked. “How many people should I tell? They’d all be of help.”

“Only tell Dean right now.” Cas said. “He’s the one with you all the time.”

Sam sighed and fell silent for a moment, thinking long and hard. “I’ll tell him after we go live those normal lives Zachariah zapped us into,” he decided. “That should be within a month."

"After you both realized the lengths the angels would go to manipulate you," Cas nodded. "If you are sure that's when you want to do it . . ."

"It is. Do you know how to get money?”

“I know how to fake a credit card and hustle pool.” Cas said. “You both have shown me. I will be fine.”

Sam pulled into the parking lot. He left the motor running and looked over at Cas. “How do you think Dean will react?”

Cas looked evenly at him. “Do not be afraid, Sam. He’s your brother.”

“I haven’t had a brother in a long time.” Sam said. “I’m not sure I completely remember what it’s like.”

Cas smiled. “You will.”

He got out of the car, and Sam followed suit. He watched as Cas settled into the seat and rolled down the window. “You need to fill me in on what you are trying to do, Sam,” he said. “What you have done, what you will do. I will try to help with what I can, I promise.”

“I know you will. We need to focus on stopping Lilith. We can't kill her, so see if there's anything in the Bunker about trapping demons.” Sam looked over at the room he and Dean had rented, but Dean had not disturbed the curtains. He was either out or propping his feet up, drinking and watching crap shows. “I’ll help you when I get there.”

Cas nodded. “Then I bid you goodbye for now, Sam. I will call you as soon as you activate my phone.”

Sam waved to him and Cas left, pulling the car into the street and off into the distance.

***

“Where have you been?” Dean asked as Sam walked into the room. His brother was sitting at the spot Sam had vacated, pouring over the computer screen.

Sam shrugged. “Walking,” he said. “Got a case?”

“One in Bedford, Iowa.” Dean said. “Three dudes have beaten their wives to death. One guy beat his wife's brains out with a meat tenderizer. Sounds like our gig, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Let’s pack.”

***

_“Siren protection?”_ Pamela asked. _“Why?”_

“We’re about to go up against one,” Sam said. “And I don’t remember this case very well.”

_“Why not?”_ Pamela asked. Sam hesitated and looked at the restaurant Dean had ducked into for food.

“I went to Hell while back,” he said hesitantly. “And it was bad. Worse than Dean’s time. Dean himself described it as making his trip to Hell look like Disneyland.”

_“That bad?”_ Pamela’s voice softened.

“Yeah.” Sam cleared his throat. “I, uh, I went insane for a little bit after I came back. Cas . . . cured me later, but before he could, a lot of my memories were re-written, especially ones where Dean and I fight. The hallucinations would magnify what hurtful things Dean said and narrow down what didn’t center around me being evil. I . . . I honestly can’t remember what’s real and what isn’t in a lot of my memories. This case wasn’t very important, so it got shuffled aside. I don’t really remember who the siren is, other than it’s a man. I don’t remember where he got the jump on us. I’m sort of going in blind right now.”

_“You seemed to have remembered your other cases okay.”_ Pamela said, and Sam was glad she was ignoring the insanity and hallucinations.

“Dean and I didn’t fight on most of the cases,” Sam said. “Not physically, I mean. Dean and I were under the spell of the siren and he told us to fight until the death. We said some pretty horrible stuff to each other and tried to . . . well, kill each other. When situations like that happened the, uh, Devil would play it over and over again, warping it out of proportion until I was sure that Dean really _did_ want me dead.”

_“Shit. I’ll look into it.”_ Pamela said. _“But in order to kill that siren, if you and Dean get infected again, you have to have some of his blood.”_

“So fighting would be useful.” Sam said.

_“Maybe. Use it as a last resort.”_ Pamela said.

“Of course.” Sam replied, remembering the vampire nest he and Dean took out when Sam was soulless. No way was he using Dean as bait on purpose again. “Thanks Pamela.”

_“Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours, Sam.”_ Pamela said. _“I’ll get back to you.”_

“Got it.” Sam said.

_“And Sam?”_ Pamela said before he could hang up, _“You’re stronger than people give you credit for. Remember that.”_

Sam swallowed, fire licking the corners of his vision. Though his insanity was a thing of the past, he found that when he was emotionally distressed, ghost laughter would echo in his ears, taunting him.

He hung up without saying goodbye, unable to speak. He thought Pamela understood, though.

***

Sam paused in the hallway, knowing that Dean and the Siren were waiting for him in the room. Last time Dean had gotten the jump on him, and the Siren had infected him. He and Dean had then fought, Dean nearly killed him before Bobby had come and killed Munroe. He was prepared this time, however.

He clenched his jaw and headed inside, quickly stepping away from the door, and where Dean stood, waiting. Now he had both his brother and the siren in his sights, and he would not get infected this time.

“Tired of whoreing?” Sam asked casually.

Munroe—God, Sam wished he had remembered—smiled slightly. “I get bored, like we all do. And I wanna fall in love again. And again . . ." his smile grew demented. ". . . and again.”

Sam laughed. “You pathetic loser,” he said. “Dean doesn’t love you. No one does. You’ll die all alone knowing just how worthless you are.”

“You won’t be saying that in a minute,” Munroe said, an ugly look on his face. Sam hoped that the protection Pamela gave him worked as Munroe spat at Sam, getting the toxin on his lips and chin. “So I know you two have a lot you wanna get off your chests. So why don't you discuss it? And whoever survives can be with me forever.” Munroe grinned wickedly.

_So, fighting it is._ Sam said as he and Dean turned to face one another. Pamela hadn't gotten the protection sigil to Sam until it was too late to give to Dean, and Sam cursed his Winchester luck as Dean began to talk, his eyes glazed under the siren's spell.

“Well, I don't know when it happened. Maybe when I was in Hell. Maybe when I was staring right at you. But the Sam I knew, he's gone,” Dean glared at Sam.

“That what you think?” Sam asked.

“And it's not the demon blood or the psychic crap,” Dean spat. “It's the little stuff. The lies. The secrets.”

“The secrets?” Sam raised an eyebrow. They began circling one another while the siren looked on with glee.

“Meeting with Ruby, for one,” Dean said. “Not telling me what happened to you when I was in Hell.”

“What, so I need to tell you everything?” Sam asked.

“That's the point. You're hiding things from me. What else aren't you telling me?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a secret if I told you, now would it?” Sam said, trying to make his voice sound patronizing. "You don't need to know everything about my personal crap, Dean."

“See what I mean? We used to be in this together. We used to have each other's backs,” Dean's accusations were fired off as he finally spilled all of his frustrations.

“It hasn’t been that way in a while.” Sam said quietly.

Dean’s face contorted in anger. He swung as Sam, who ducked and socked him in the gut. Dean grunted in pain before kneeing Sam in the face. Sam looked up to see cold eyes and a grim, stoic, determined face. Suddenly all he could see were black eyes and Dean’s voice whispering in his ear like a curse.

_“Look at me, bitch!”_

_“Until I jam that blade through that douchebag's heart, we are not a team. This is a dictatorship. Now, you don't have to like it, but that's how it's going to be.”_

_“Sam whatever type of intervention you think this is, trust me it ain't. I'm not going to explain myself to you.”_

_“I'm gonna take my shot, for better or worse . . . No matter the consequences.”_

_Sam ran through the halls, the smell of sulfur so strong in his nostrils it burned his eyes, coating the hallways liberally with its stench. He burst into Dean’s room, immediately seeing two figures standing next to the bed. Crowley was wearing his usual suit, smirking at Sam like he had just won the lottery. The second figure—and here Sam’s heart pounded—was Dean. Dean standing tall, back to Sam, head bent._

_“Dean!” Sam shouted, jerking to a halt just short of the two._

_Dean slowly turned around, and his eyes . . . they were pitch black._

_“Hiya Sammy,” Dean smirked. “Surprised?”_

_“Get out of my brother!” Sam snarled, stepping forwards and raising the knife he kept on his person at all times._

_Dean leaned forwards, the smell of sulfur washing over Sam. “I am Dean,” he said and laughed at Sam. “The Mark wasn’t meant for humans, Sam. It never was.”_

_“No,” Sam said weakly._

_“Yes,” Dean smiled cruelly. “I’m sure I'll see ya, Sam.”_

_Then he and Crowley disappeared in another wave of sulfur leaving Sam alone in his brother’s room, chest heaving with suppressed sobs._

Sam’s fist collided with Dean’s jaw, smacking upwards. He felt something crack, but knew Dean had had worse. As Dean fell, Sam brought out a small knife, hidden from Munroe, and nicked Dean’s arm. A few drops of blood coated the blade and Sam whirled around and threw the knife at the siren. 

“No!” Dean tried to shout through a fractured jaw, but it was too late. Munroe’s face slackened in surprise, and they all watched in slow motion as the blade entered his chest, just over his heart.

Munroe fell down, blood soaking his shirt, eyes blank.

Sam stood over Dean, panting, watching the life leave Munroe’s body. His hands were shaking slightly, and he clasped them together in an effort to calm them. At that moment Bobby came crashing into the room, knife raised, eyes assessing the danger. When he saw what had happened, he rushed over to Dean after giving Sam and short considering look, and started helping Dean to his feet.

Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Dean’s voice whispered in his ear one last line, one line that made Sam want to fight for his brother and his friends and get back home.

_“I’m proud of us.”_

***

“Last time you died.” Sam said in a low voice. Pamela’s eyes widened, and she sighed.

“Great.”

Sam shrugged. “Let’s try not to do it this time. Last time, you were blind and we left you defenseless. That won’t happen this time.”

“You’ll take good care of me, I’m sure.” Pamela laughed and rolled her eyes. Sam once again appreciated her ability to take all his crap and shrug it off. He wished he had known Pamela better last time; she was good to him. She listened. They entered the room where Dean was waiting. Sam passed Pamela the knife and a scrap of paper with an exorcism on it. She looked it over and nodded. Sam looked and Dean, who gave him the thumbs up.

“Warded up well,” his brother said and laid down on the bed. “This isn’t gonna hurt, is it?”

“It’ll feel weird,” Pamela said. “But you’ll be fine.”

Dean looked at Sam, who sat down on the other bed.

Pamela rested her hands on their foreheads and started to create their astral projections.

***

Sam knew where to go, how to control objects, and what they would find. He tried to nudge to goings faster, ‘catching on’ more quickly than Dean. They confronted Alistair and managed to save both Reapers; Sam managed to get the one who died last time out of the way in time. It felt like a victory.

He was pulled back into his body, leaving Dean to deal with the kid ghost, Cole. He and Pamela guarded the room until Pamela sensed Dean’s presence, bringing him back into his body. They hurried down to the Impala, making sure that Pamela was safely in her heavily warded car and on her way home before getting into their vehicle and driving off.

***

They parked outside their motel room and Dean scraped the keys into the lock. The door swung open and Dean stepped inside.

“Ah, home crappy home,” he mocked. Sam snorted and flipped the lights revealing two angels, Castiel and Uriel.

“Winchester and Winchester,” Uriel greeted them coldly.

Sam thought back to one of the conversations he’d had with his Cas before this last case. Dean had been out to get food, and Sam had given his time traveling friend a ring.

_“I’ve been meaning to kill Uriel, but I don’t have an angel blade. Did you bring any?”_

_“Of course.” Cas said. “But don’t kill him.”_

_“What?” Sam demanded, taken aback by Cas' answer. “Why not?”_

_“The angel killings—I don't know if you remember—" Sam made a negative sound, and Cas ploughed on. "Well, we figured out it was Uriel behind it. That was what made me begin to doubt Heaven.”_

_“But if I kill Uriel, you wouldn’t doubt Heaven and you wouldn’t Fall,” Sam protested. “I’m glad you’re my friend, Cas, I really am, but I don’t want you to have to go through that again.”_

_Cas sighed, the sound crackling over the speakers. “Sam, I appreciate it, but I’ve gained free will and a life that is mine. I wouldn’t change that.”_

_Sam closed his eyes. “Would this Cas agree with you?" Cas didn't answer. "Cas, please. Give me an angel blade. Let me kill him.”_

_“It’ll only get you killed.” Cas said. “I won’t have that happen, Sam.”_

_“But—”_

_“No, Sam. This is my choice.”_

_“Fine.” Sam snapped. “Then we wait.”_

_“We wait.” Cas agreed._

“Oh come on.” Dean groaned.

“You are needed.” Uriel said. Sam watched as the dark-skinned angel and Dean began to argue. He felt Castiel’s eyes on him and after a short time looked over at the angel, who was once again studying him. He raised his eyebrows at the angel and pointedly focused back on the argument.

***

He let events go as they had last time, mostly. He did, however, call Cas and ask him to go to the warehouse and strengthen the wards. Cas agreed to do so and set about hiding himself from angels, who were surely watching. He also found a spell of invisibility, to hide from Alistair’s gaze as well. The Bunker was truly a gift far greater than anything else the Winchesters had been given. Cas had reported back to him, texting Sam and telling him that he had slipped into the warehouse after the torture master was taken there and strengthened the Devil’s Trap by coating it with his blood so that Alistair had no chance of escape. Devil’s Traps were meant to be infused with blood, and the power it gave them was much stronger than any spray paint or chalk. Cas was human enough that the blood was almost as potent as a human’s.

The angels and demon did not notice him.

The angels disappeared with Dean, and Sam turned around to open the motel door. There was his Cas, dressed in an inconspicuous wardrobe of a dark blue hoodie, worn jeans, and dirty sneakers.

“I thought it would be best if I looked dissimilar to my younger angelic self,” he said by way of a greeting before slipping inside.

“You sure you got enough extra wards set up?” Sam asked, shutting the door behind him.

Cas nodded. “It’s all taken care of. I also put invisible Devil’s Traps up so that if he does break free, he’d run into one of them and be trapped long enough for Castiel or you to stab him.”

Sam breathed out a chuckle. “Good job, Cas. Thanks.”

Cas smiled. “Thank you for remembering that I could and would help.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s great that you’re here,” he said, injecting as much sincerity as he could into his tone. “Really, thanks.”

Cas clasped Sam’s shoulder briefly. “I’m glad I could be here, and wish I had appeared sooner.”

Sam shook his head. “This is fine, Cas. I need the help now more than ever.”

“Dean is still in the dark?” Cas asked.

“I told you, I’d tell him after we meet Zachariah,” Sam said. “He’s too emotional after Alistair, even if he hadn’t learned about the First Seal. That demon was the one who tortured him.”

“Why didn’t you stop it?” Cas asked. “You know everything he could tell you.”

Sam gritted his teeth. “I can’t fix everything, Cas,” he said. “I can’t keep them all up in bubble wrap. They have a right to live, too. I’m just trying to limit the casualties and make sure the Apocalypse doesn’t happen. You also want Castiel to learn about Uriel and the fact that Heaven isn’t as pure as you’d thought—well, this is where you learn, right?”

Cas nodded. “I believe that I benefited from that moment,” he said. “I am now much more than I was not because of power, but because of experience that I gained from Falling.”

Sam smiled tightly. “Well, as long as you’re okay with it, I’ll pin the blame on you,” he joked. He looked at Cas and before hunching in on himself. "I'd give anything to prevent Dean from learning about this. Dean has already suffered so much . . ."

"But he will find out, one way or another," Cas finished.

"Better have the demon that made it happen in front of him, ready to be killed," Sam agreed. He looked at the clock hanging on the wall. “I’d better go.”

“I will . . . hang around.” Cas said. “You can text me when you can get free and we will meet up to talk more.”

Sam nodded. “Will do,” He said and strode towards the door, wrenching it open and exiting into the night.

***

When he entered the warehouse, he saw Dean losing it. Running to Cas' fallen blade he picked it up and stabbed Alistair, but the damage was done and Dean now knew that he set the Seals in motion. Sam looked down at the bloody meatsuit, now devoid of any life, twisted or not.

It felt good to kill him again.

Dean turned away and walked out of the room, head low and spirit broken. Castiel gave Sam one last searching look before following Dean out.

Sam waited alone in the room with the corpse until he was sure they were gone, and then trailed back to the motel room, lying on the bed in the dark, thinking long and hard.

***

It wasn’t until the clock read midnight that Sam remembered his promise to Cas and sent him a quick text, asking to meet him at a local diner.

When he arrived, they were one of the only ones there. There was a waitress who was moping in a corner and a man at the counter, morosely stirring some coffee.

Cas sat away from the windows, his back to the rest of the diner, face hidden. Sam slid into the booth across from him. Cas had two cups of coffee in front of him and a small plate of sausages he was eating. Sam pulled his coffee towards him and took a sip. It was decaf, but just the way he liked it.

“Thanks,” he muttered gratefully and stole one of Cas’ sausages.

“How did it go?” Cas asked, ignoring the theft and looking at Sam.

Sam shrugged. “Dean still hasn’t returned, so I think it’s safe to assume he’s talking with you.”

“Last time he was in the hospital,” Cas said. “This time the wards worked?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “He managed to get free of the first Trap, but was caught in one of the invisible ones long enough for me to stab him.”

“I’m glad it worked out.” Cas said.

“Yeah,” Sam leaned back, rubbing his eyes. “Castiel and Dean didn't question the new wards. Dean because he just found out he broke the First Seal. I'm not sure about you."

"Perhaps because he was surprised," Cas suggested. "Either about the Seal or that angels or . . ."

"Whatever," Sam said. "It doesn't matter right now. Hey, can you pop up to Windom, Minnesota and check on Adam? The ghouls should be there soon.”

“Of course.” Cas said. “You want me to save both Adam and his mother?”

Sam nodded. “Protect him from demons, angels, and every other creepy crawly. Make sure they’re safe.” Cas nodded and the two fell silent again.

“So I guess I’ll tell Dean soon,” Sam said at last.

“Good,” Cas said and sipped at his coffee. “He's not the brother you left, but he loves you, Sam.”

Sam closed his eyes. “I know,” he whispered.

***

It was late by the time he returned to the motel, and after he let himself in he saw Dean sitting hunched over on his bed.

“Dean?” Sam asked and took a step forwards.

Dean lifted his head, not looking at Sam. “’The first seal shall be broken when a Righteous Man sheds blood in Hell.'"

“What?” Sam asked.

“I broke the First Seal, Sammy,” Dean choked out. “All this is because of me.”

Sam crossed over to Dean. “You did what you had to to survive,” he said emphatically, trying to get Dean to understand. “Don’t blame yourself, Dean.”

“If I’d just held on a little while longer . . .” Dean whispered.

“Dean, it’s not your fault,” Sam said.

“But it is.” Dean said and looked at the ceiling. “I was weak.”

“You held on,” Sam said. “You’re still you.”

_Black eyes, cold smile, a chilling laugh . . ._

“Dean,” Sam said. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

Dean looked over at him, silently waiting for him to continue. The room was dark. The clock ticked silently. Moonlight filtered through the curtain, bathing square patches of beige carpet in silver. Their breathing mingled with the hum of the radiator.

Sam opened his mouth.


	5. I Never Said That I Want This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has something he wants to tell Dean. Now if only the angels will let him . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go! The moment you’ve all been waiting for. Now, I only go over one episode in this chapter, but that’s because there’s quite a lot of talking . . . you’ll see!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter(or there’d be more books!) nor do I own Supernatural.
> 
> Title is from the song is ‘Monster’ by Imagine Dragons.

_“A lie that is half-truth is the darkest of all lies.”_ —Alfred Tennyson 

Sam wasn't sure what he expected when the angels yanked him and Dean out of their life and wiped their memories.

He’d just opened his mouth to tell Dean the truth when the smarmy, smug looking angel named Zachariah appeared before them. Dean stood up, an indignant shout escaping his lips and a confused, outraged look on his face, before Zachariah snapped his fingers. Suddenly, Sam Winchester became Sam Wesson.

Sam Wesson had a lot of headache medicine. The cabinet behind his bathroom mirror was filled with little white bottles, and more were scattered across his apartment. His apartment was military clean, everything in its place. The heat was always turned up to warmer-than average. His table had one chair. There was no room for company. His bed was impersonal. He had memories of a girlfriend with stuffed animals and lots of pillows and blankets and often a candy wrapper or two hidden in the blankets. His bed had a pillow and a few blankets to protect him from the cold. He wasn't sure why he feared the cold.

He woke up three weeks ago with a headache and his skin on fire. He had screamed and screamed before a neighbor woke him up by pounding on the door. He went to the doctor and got medicine. A lot of medicine.

No one knew why he had such terrible migraines.

But after a few days he went to work and there he saw a man, a man he trusted and loved so much (and not in a romantic way, Sam was sure) that he would die again and again for him. He had brown hair and green eyes and was shorter than Sam (but, then again, who wasn’t?) and who ignored everyone around him.

“Do I know you?” he asked him as they stood in the elevator at one point. The man looked up, and Sam almost threw up; the man looked like himself, but didn't. Sam tried to convince himself that the man looked exactly as he should, but for some reason he kept overlaying the man's face with an older one; one who wore plaid and denim jackets and spiked hair and a cocky grin that never seemed to reach his eyes.

“I don't think so pal,” the man replied and said something else but Sam was struck by the feeling that this had all happened before. All of it, from the man's response to the ridiculous job to Ian's death . . . Sam shook his head after the doors closed behind the other man. Ian wasn't dead. He was alive upstairs getting ready to go home. Sam felt a headache approaching and groaned, rubbing his temples after the (familiar) man left.

***

“Tech support, this is Sam Wesson.” Sam said, poking at a vampire bobble head with his pencil. “Okay. Uh, well, did you try turning it off and then on?” Really, was it that hard to do? “Okay, go ahead and turn it off. No, no, no, just, just off. All right, give it a second. Turn it back on. Okay, is it printing now? Great. Anytime.” He hung up to the woman’s gushing ‘thank you’s’ and sighed.

“Hey,” Ian’s voice said. Sam glanced over at Ian, looking bemusedly at his eager face.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think of Mimi?”

Sam shrugged. “She’s okay. Why?”

“Might have to hit that.” Ian wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, dude, that's totally age-inappropriate.” Sam made a face, gagging slightly.

“Experience,” Ian said sagely.

“Trifocals,” Sam retorted.

“There's a MILF there, Sam. I just know it. Maybe a GMILF.” Ian chuckled.

“Come on,” Sam said good-naturedly.

“Coffee break?” Ian asked.

“Yeah, for sure,” Sam said and stood up.

Paul was acting weird today, concentrating hard on his work. As Ian led Sam to the break room, he told him that Paul had been busted by HR for porn surfing. Sam’s brow furrowed, but he let it drop. He couldn't shake the prickly sensation of _deja vu_.

When they reached the break room, Sam headed for the coffee pot, determined not to sleep much that night—the nightmares were getting worse. He poured one cup for himself, then one for Ian. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Ian stuffing pencils into his pockets.

“Ian, dude,” Sam protested, successfully focusing on his friend and not the displacement he was feeling.

“Just doing a little shopping. Running low at home,” Ian said, furtively looking around.

Sam huffed a laugh and handed his friend his cup of coffee.

“So, Sam, had any of those dreams lately?” Ian asked after taking a sip. Sam turned away to face the cabinets. “What? Don't be like that. Come on. It's the highlight of my day,” Ian insisted.

“I never should have told you in the first place,” Sam muttered.

“They're genius. Don't hold out on me, dude. Share with the class,” the shorter man egged Sam with a wide grin.

“You're just gonna be a dick about it,” Sam pointed out, turning back to face his friend.

“What? No way. I won't say a word. Total respect. Go.” He leaned against the cabinet that held extras supplies, looking eagerly at Sam.

“Fine.” Sam said. “I dreamt I cured a girl from vampire Stockholm syndrome.”

Ian burst out laughing, and Sam turned away, feeling hurt.

“Classic! How much D &D did you play when you were a kid? Oh, my—okay, so you—" he bent over, laughing. "A vampire with Stockholm syndrome. That's—you're a hero. I mean, thank God we got Harry Potter here to save us all from the apocalypse.”

“Dick,” Sam muttered.

“Wizard!” Ian countered, snickering.

***

_Black eyes._

_“So what, now you’re Polish?”_

_He and the other man shot a figure in a black cloak in a child's bedroom._

_“You fudging touch me again I’ll fudging kill you!”_

_The other man was standing with a black haired man wearing a trench coat. There was a third man, who had a stake sticking out of his neck and who was grinning until he suddenly exploded into black goo._

_“You know who wears sunglasses inside? Blind people. And douchebags.”_

_He was shining with bright white light, the skeletal shadows of wings unfolding on either side of him._

_Black eyes._

_Cold, alone, scared._

_Black._

***

“Can I ask you a question?” Sam asked, looking at the familiar man standing beside him. The man looked disinterestedly at him, and Sam could see him mentally gathering his patience.

“Look, man, I told you, I'm not into the, uh—”

“Oh dude, come on, I'm not either. I just wanna ask you one question.” Sam sometimes wished people’s minds did not immediately jump to sex, because or some reason even the _thought_ of having sex with this guy seemed _wrong_. It’s not that the guy wasn’t handsome; it just felt taboo.

The man glanced around, but sighed when he saw no around to fake interest in and said, “Sure.”

“What do you think about ghosts?” Sam waited on baited breath, looking at the man in anticipation.

“Ghosts?” the man looked taken aback.

“Do you believe in them?” Sam said, but the man just looked increasingly nonplussed.

“Uh, tell you the truth, I've never given it much thought,” he seemed to think the conversation was done, but Sam wasn’t finished.

“Vampires?”

“What?” the man dragged his attention back to Sam. “Why?”

“Because I've been having some weird dreams lately. You know what I mean?” Sam hoped the man did. He was in Sam’s dreams; they had fought together, in the past and future. He had to know.

“No. Not really,” the man said, and Sam’s hope died.

“So you've never had any . . . weird dreams?” Sam asked desperately.

“All right, look, man, I don't know you, okay? But I'm gonna do a public service and, uh, let you know that—that you overshare.”

The elevator dinged, and the man left quickly. Sam had one more level to go, and watched with disappointed eyes as the man disappeared from sight.

 

***

Sam glanced around as he walked to his apartment building, hoping he didn’t see the man again. He punched in the code, but missed a button. Cursing, he tried again when he felt eyes on him. He looked up wildly and saw the man across the street. It wasn't the man from the office; this man had black hair and bright blue eyes that pierced Sam, almost as if the guy was looking into his soul. Today he was wearing grubby cargo pants, a hole-ly hoodie, and black boots. He did nothing but watch Sam, making sure he got into his apartment safely.

Sam was sure he had a stalker, but the man had done nothing but watch him enter and leave his building for two weeks. The hobo did nothing but watch him enter his building and leave for work in the morning. There weren’t grounds for suing (not that he had the money for a lawyer) or taking it to the police because the man had done nothing but stare unblinkingly at Sam. It made him uncomfortable, sure. But Sam had never felt threatened.

Sam had tried to approach the man several times over the last two weeks, but by the time he’d crossed the street each time, the man had disappeared.

Sam entered the code correctly and let himself in, closing the door on his creepy hobo stalker.

***

Sam watched as they rolled Ian’s body away. It was just yesterday that Paul had died, but now Ian was gone, too? This was strange. His friends were dropping left and right—was Sam next?

They’d both been acting oddly the day they had died, too.

Could something be going on?

Of course something was; this didn't happen. One suicide? Okay. Sure. But _two?_ In two days? That was pushing the boundaries of usual circumstance. Neither Ian nor Paul were suicidal. Paul was—had been— _retiring_ in two weeks. Ian loved life like no one else Sam had ever met. It didn't make sense.

So the better question was; _what_ , then, was going on?

“He was, uh—he was standing there in front of the mirror, and then—” he heard the man from the elevator’s voice and looked up to see him talking with an officer. The man was looking at him, fear and uncertainty in his eyes. Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

“Continue, sir,” the officer prompted.

“And he stabbed himself in the neck. I'm sorry, that's, um . . .” Sam turned away and slipped back into the cubicles, sitting down at his desk and wondering what could be going on. When the phone rang a few minutes later, Sam answered it on autopilot.

“Tech support, this is Sam.”

_“I need to see you in my office. Now.”_ The man’s voice demanded.

Sam hung up and headed up.

*** The man, Dean Smith, was in shock. Sam could see that as soon as he opened the door. Sam confided some of his uncertainties to the man, such as his doubts about being Sam Wesson and his idea that there might be something . . . _not natural_ going on. His instincts were screaming at him to do _something, anything_. He was relieved to hear that’s what Dean’s instincts were telling him to do, too. Sam thought it was a ghost and told Dean about some of the dreams he’d been having.

“So you're telling me that your dreams are special visions and you're some kind of psychic?” Dean asked incredulously.

“No. I mean, that would be nuts. I'm just saying something weird is definitely going on around here, right? So I've been digging around a little.” He shifted and grabbed a small stack of papers out of his bag. “I think I found a connection between the two guys.” He handed over the papers and watched as Dean looked them over, frowning as he realized what they were. He looked up at Sam.

“You broke into their email accounts?” he asked.

Sam was treading in dangerous waters right now. “I used some skills that I happen to have to satisfy my curiosity,” he said carefully.

Here was where Dean fired him, told him to get the hell out . . . but all Dean said was an appreciative “Nice.”

Sam sagged, relieved, but then hurried to point out what he’d found. “Yeah. Okay. So it turns out Ian and Paul both got this same email telling them to report to HR, room fourteen forty-four.”

“HR is on seven,” Dean said.

“Exactly,” Sam said.

“Should we go check this out?” Dean asked eagerly, handing the papers back.

“Like right now?” Sam put the papers back in his bag.

“No. No, it's getting late. You're right.” Dean said, slumping and turning away slightly. Sam knew what was going through Dean’s mind—the excitement was getting to him, too.

“I am dying to check this out,” Sam said and watched Dean's reaction.

“Right?” Dean said, tentative hope on his face.

As the two walked down the hall, Sam noted the ease to which they walked together, in-step, their breathing and heartbeats marching together. This was easy, and Sam suddenly remembered a church, Dean supporting him as they raced out and collapsed next to a car ( _such an important car,_ a voice hissed in his mind) and both looking, in unison, as meteors fell from the sky. 

Sam didn't mention time travel. Ghosts were crazy enough.

***

They won against Sanford, the ghost who was a major workaholic and who made people kill themselves if they messed up their work. Sam had never felt so exhilarated, never had felt so right. He had saved so many people, so they could continue living with their friends, families, partners . . . . all because of him. He had saved people’s lives and avenged others deaths. It was . . . an amazing feeling.

Dean freaked out on Sam when Sam tried to convince him to hit the road and travel, stopping ghosts and other creatures that killed innocents. Sam had left, and was so despondent that he barely noticed his creepy stalker man looking at him in worry. The man had actually stepped out of the alley he was always in, brow crinkled and blue eyes glued to Sam. Sam looked at him before turning away and entering his apartment. He didn't want to try to deal with hobo-stalker right then.

If Dean didn’t want to go hunting with him, then fine; Sam would do it by himself. That was the life he wanted, not some boring cubical with repetitive phone calls. He found a dusty suitcase and began to pack, already running a list of things he needed to get done before he disappears; he needs to withdraw his money, sell his apartment . . . As he stuffed the few shirts that he owned into a bag, there was a knock at the door.

Sam looked at it in bewilderment—who’d come here? He didn’t have any friends or family that would visit. He unlocked the door and held it open.

“Hi,” Dean greeted him.

“Hey,” Sam said, surprised. The Dean standing in front of him looked different. Instead of his suit, he wore plaid and leather and his eyes seemed . . . harder. Colder. He looked more like the man from his dreams. “Come in,” he invited, stepping back. Dean was looking at him oddly, a funny expression of twisted fear and relief painted on his face.

“Thanks,” Dean said.

“Excuse the mess,” Sam said. “I wasn't expecting company.”

“You have any the last three weeks?” Dean asked idly, like he knew the answer. 

“No,” Sam said and cleared off some books from the coffee table. “Want coffee, or you still on that low-carb diet?”

Dean snorted so hard that Sam looked at him in alarm.

“Nothin’,” Dean waved him away and examined a bottle half full of medicine lying on the counter of Sam’s little kitchenette.

“Those are for my headaches,” Sam said. It felt awkward, having someone looking at his sparse apartment. When Sam had first moved here, he had only unpacked the essentials. There were still untouched boxes in the corners. Seeing Dean standing among the impersonal clutter (he had a lot of sticky notes, for some reason) made him feel out-of-place.

“Why d’you get headaches?” Dean asked.

Sam looked away. “It’s nothing,” he said softly. Dean moved closer.

“Sam, why d’you get headaches?”

Sam looked at him. “It’s weird.”

Dean laughed, his whole face lighting up. “Stranger than a workaholic ghost?”

Some of the oddness dissipated. Sam grinned. “Maybe,” he fell quiet again, picking a book up from his couch and turning it over in his hands. “I dream I'm on fire," he said slowly, weighing each word on his tongue. “It hurts so much, and I'm so afraid and I scream a lot,” he grimaced and took a seat on his couch. “There are other dreams, too. Some are really strange.”

“Strange how?” Dean asked. Sam shook his head.

“Like, stranger than ghosts,” he said. “But it doesn't matter. I just feel so tired, in these dreams, like I have so much to do but I can’t. I have friends and family, but I’m so alone in this future. I don't even know why. It's like it hasn't happened yet.”

“Like a vision?” Dean asked. “Psychic visions and stuff?”

“Dunno,” Sam sighed. “Maybe. I get glimpses of things that seemed to have already happened, so I’m not sure if it’s that cut and dry.”

“What’s it like, in this future of yours?” Dean asked.

“I shouldn’t’ve told you.” Sam said, agitated, twisting the book. The book’s spine creaked in his hands, but Sam didn’t notice. A sense that Dean should never have heard what he had just said resonated through him and Sam shook his head in distress. “You must think I’m crazy, you always think I’m crazy, no matter what I do and . . . no that’s not right, I only met you three days ago!” Sam clenched his hands in frustration.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Dean said and snapped his fingers at Sam. “Focus, buddy. I’m not sayin’ nothin’. Just tell me what the future is like, okay? Can you do that for me?” Sam shivered where he sat, looking up at Dean with wounded eyes because the future was dark and Dean would try and stop it but it _wouldn’t work_.

“It hurts,” Sam said. “Is the future supposed to be so full of pain?”

”I don't know,” Dean said softly. Sam blinked at him, his face crumpling.

“I know you,” he said softly. “In this future. You're broken and I'm broken and everyone is dead. And everywhere I turn, I see black eyes.”

“Sam . . .” Dean said, voice pained, and his eyes were sad. “Here, we’ll figure it out.” Dean stretched his hand toward Sam and Sam took it and _remembered_. A rush of all the memories he’d had of the future (his past) and the changed timeline and Hell and the Trials and . . . He flinched and shook his head like a drunk, his memories of his past and present and future/past swimming in his head.

”Dean,” he choked out, staggering away from Dean, pushing at him.

“Visions of the future?” Dean said lowly. “I thought that stopped. What the hell Sam?”

“That’s not what’s going on!” Sam said.

“Then what?” Dean demanded. “What’s going on?”

Sam rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Not here, not here,” he muttered, looking around. “They could be listening.”

“Who? The angels?” Dean asked.

“They left the Impala in a parking garage a few blocks from here,” Sam said, wincing at pain in his head, the hurt reflected in his voice as the memories swam in his head. He thought he saw Lucifer in the corner of his eye, and he spun around in fright. There was nothing there.

“Sam!” Dean said. “Sam, what’s going on?”

“I’m having trouble dealing with my memories.” Sam said through gritted teeth.

“I didn’t,” Dean sounded thoroughly alarmed.

Sam shook his head. “It’s different with you. You have it easy. Thankfully I don’t think Zachariah saw what was in my head; he was more focused on you.”

“Who said anything about Zachariah?” Dean demanded.

“ _Later_ , Dean,” Sam hissed, striding over to the door. “I promise to tell you _later_. We have to leave.”

Dean followed Sam down the stairs and outside. Sam saw Cas across the street, looking at Sam. Sam nodded shortly at him before hurrying down the sidewalk. Dean did not see Cas and kept following Sam as Sam led him to the car.

Once they were bundled up inside, Sam refused to say more until they found a motel a few cities away. Dean tried to argue, but Sam glared at him and he dropped it. Once they found a suitable motel, Dean headed inside to check in. Sam found his phone in his bag in the trunk; apparently the angels were dickish enough to zap them into a new like, but thoughtful enough to pack their crap up and put it in the car. He shook his head and fired off a text to Cas, telling him where to find them. Then he unloaded the trunk and took their stuff inside like usual.

Once they were inside, however, Dean let lose. “What’s goin’ on, Sammy?” he asked. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Sam sat down on his bed and looked at Dean. His brother hesitantly followed suit.

“You got out of Hell September 18th,” Sam stated. Dean nodded. “I woke up that day not knowing where I was.”

“What do you—” Dean began but Sam silenced him with a glare.

“I woke up in bed with Ruby. I freaked out because where I had last been, Dean, was the year 2014, and Ruby was dead.”

Dean sat still and silent, trying to process that. “This isn’t a joke, is it?” he asked at last. “This is the truth?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “This is the truth. I’ve known exactly what was going to happen this year, on every hunt and every case because I’ve _lived_ it. I know why you were pulled out of Hell, who pulled you out, and what their plans are.”

“If you’re from 2014—and I don’t believe that yet ‘cause it’s crazy—then why do you look so young?”

“I don’t know the exact specifics, but I seem to be possessing my younger self,” Sam said hesitantly. “He’s safe, just asleep.”

“So you just . . . what, woke up and you were in 2008?” Dean asked skeptically.

“Pretty much,” Sam said.

“Huh.” Dean said. He looked like someone had punched him. "I would never have thought of . . . that."

"Time travel isn't common," Sam agreed. "I don't blame you for not guessing."

Dean looked at Sam, who looked steadily back. Dean looked hurt and confused and slightly pissed off; everything Sam had been expecting from him. 

“Why hide?” Dean finally asked.

Sam looked away. “You’ve been complaining about Ruby this year,” he said softly. “And rightly so. She tried—and succeeded, in my time—manipulating me by using my grief and thirst for revenge in order to . . .”

“To what, Sam?” Dean asked.

“Start the Apocalypse,” Sam whispered and licked his dry lips. “I didn’t know, Dean.” He looked at Dean, pain and remorse shining in his eyes. “I thought I was doing the right thing. Killing Lilith was supposed to be a good thing. It was supposed to be the end.”

“Wait,” Dean stood up, stepping away from Sam. “You started the Apocalypse?”

“In my timeline, yes.” Sam said and did not move from his place on the bed.

Dean laughed harshly. “So, what, you’re trying to avoid that now?”

“Of course! Look, Dean, I know everyone thinks I’ll go dark side, but I have _always_ wanted to do good. I’m not going to sit back and let the Apocalypse happen again!”

“Why hide this from me?” Dean asked angrily. "I mean, you got a good gig, here; keep me in the dark and continue stopping the fucking Apocalypse! Why the fuck would you tell me now?"

“I was trying to protect you,” Sam said quietly. “From what I am. From what my time is like, what it’s turned me into.”

“And what has it turned you into?” Dean demanded.

“A soldier.” Sam said. “Fighting wars on a cosmic level, dying all the time.”

Dean let out a shaky laugh. “So, what, you decide to zap back here and rewrite history?”

“No!” Sam said. “I don’t know what happened! I was . . .” he closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Something happened,” he whispered. “I needed to stop it, fix it, and instead I’m blasted back here and I . . . I didn’t know how to get back so I . . . I wanted to make things better for you.”

“Oh,” Dean said.

“So . . . do you believe me?” Sam asked tentatively.

Dean sighed. “It would make the sudden knowledge of all our hunts make sense,” he said slowly. “So, yeah, for now I guess. You better be tellin’ the truth.”

“I am,” Sam said emphatically.

Dean slowly sat back onto his bed. “Is the future that bad?”

Sam laughed bitterly and looked off to the side. “It’s bad,” he said. “There are worse universes I could have come from, but I do come from a pretty bad one. There’s no one I can trust and no one to help me because everyone—Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Garth, Kevin, Charlie, hell, even Benny—they’re all dead or missing. They’ve been dead for years.”

“Bobby’s dead?” Dean asked quietly.

Sam nodded.

“Ellen and Jo too?”

Sam nodded again and watched Dean's expression crumple. “It was a long time ago.”

"So not very far into the future for me."

Sam didn't know how to comfort Dean for the deaths of his loved ones that were still, currently, alive and well.

Dean was silent for a moment. “When you were Sam Wesson . . . you said you dreamed about burning. What did you mean?”

Sam looked down. “I let Lucifer out of Hell,” he said. “I had to put him back.”

Dean made a strangled noise. “How long?” he demanded.

Sam shook his head. “No,” he said quietly.

“Dammit Sammy!” Dean shouted. “Tell me!”

“Dean . . .” Sam started.

“No, you tell me,” Dean said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. “You tell me right the fuck now.”

“I . . . we’re vessels,” Sam said. “You’re Michael’s, and I’m Lucifer’s. I . . . I let Lucifer possess me, then gained control and jumped into the cage, dragging Michael down with us . . .”

“How long?” Dean said quietly.

Sam sighed heavily. “Up here? A year and a half. Down there? Well over a thousand years. Time is slower down in the Cage, much slower than the rest of Hell.”

Dean stared at Sam, mouth agape, eyes tortured.

“You knew I’d been to Hell,” he whispered. “You already knew what I’d done, what I’d been through, and you’ve been through worse and you just let me . . . you just let me _mope_ about it?” he finished angrily.

Sam looked at him sharply. “You had every right to,” he hissed. “I’ve had _years_ to deal with my time in Hell. You—it’s been less than a year for you. I wasn’t complaining at all, Dean. You needed time to heal.”

Dean shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak when a knock on the door sounded. They both looked over and Sam walked quickly to the peephole. Cas stood there in his ragged glory, looking nervously behind him.

Sam turned to face Dean. “One of our friends found me,” he said. “He traveled here to help me.”

Dean still looked pissed and confused. “I thought you said all our friends are dead in the future.”

Sam shook his head. “He’s alive. Well, I mean he’s died. It just hasn’t stuck.”

“So who is it?” Dean demanded.

Sam opened the door.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said and stepped inside to let Sam close the door. Dean’s eyes bugged as he looked at Cas’ dirty clothes and scruffy face. There was a moment of silence as Dean tried to take in Cas’ appearance.

“Cas?” he asked.

Cas nodded and hugged Sam tightly, which Sam returned briefly before wandering over to the beds. “I hope you were not too freaked these last few weeks,” he told Sam. “It was not my intention to scare you.”

“Dude, I thought you were stalking me,” Sam snorted. “Most people do not have sort-of angels watching over them.”

“’Sort-of angels’?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Cas said shortly. “I Fell and became human. For the war I killed another angel and stole their Grace. Therefore, I am a sort-of angel.”

Dean stared at him. “. . .What?” he finally managed. “You Fell? You were . . . are . . . _human?_ ”

"Basically," Cas nodded. He began digging in Sam’s duffle bag. “I located and protected Adam and his mother,” he told Sam without looking at him. “They have now moved under assumed identities and told no one where they were going. No angels and demons should be able to find them.” He continued to look through Sam’s bag, presumably trying to find food.

Sam sighed. “Thanks Cas,” he said gratefully.

“Who’s Adam?” Dean asked.

“Your brother,” Cas said bluntly.

Dean looked even more freaked out. “ _Brother?_ ” he looked at Sam, who nodded.

“He’s in Hell where we were,” Sam said quietly. “We don’t know how to get him out. I’ve been trying, in my spare time.”

Dean walked briskly over to the mini fridge, where he pulled out a bottle of beer. “This is fucking confusing.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah,” he agreed.

There was another stretch of silence, only punctuated by Cas eating a granola bar on the bed.

“So my Sam?” Dean asked. “He’s okay?”

“He is asleep in my mind.” Sam said. “He’ll wake up when I leave. He doesn’t know that you’re out of Hell, Dean. I came before you got back.”

“What about Ruby?” Dean asked.

“I'll kill her when I get the chance. Your Sam . . . was fucking her and drinking her blood,” Sam shrugged. “Honestly I saved him from a stupid mistake.”

Dean’s mouth opened in shock. “ _What?_ ”

“Ruby manipulated Sam into drinking the demon blood so that he could kill Lilith and break the Final Seal, freeing Lucifer,” Cas said, brushing away a few crumbs from his jacket. “By the time you were resurrected, he was already Ruby’s slave with the illusion of free will.”

Dean leaned against the wall, eyes closed in pain. “Sammy . . .” he said in despair and grief. Sam was ninety-nine percent sure he was not talking to him.

“We don’t know if he’ll still be addicted to the blood,” Sam said. “His body has gone without it for a while, but there might be some mental side effects.”

Dean made a noise like a wounded animal. “Why the hell did he—you—do that?” he asked angrily.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Sam looked steadily at Dean. “You were gone and I crashed. Ruby kept me going.”

“So you fucked her and _drank her blood?_ ” Dean asked.

“Look, Dean,” Sam said. “I’m not making excuses for myself. I’ve hashed it out already. I know what I’ve done, and so does my Dean and Cas. You want to talk about it? Do it with your Sam. It’s been years since I’ve touched the blood, and we killed Ruby years ago.”

Dean drank a large swallow of alcohol. “So,” Dean said in an effort to change the topic. “2014. I see Cas is here, and Sam of course.” He gestured to Sam. “Is there, in my brother. Where am I?”

“We . . . don’t know,” Cas said after he and Sam shared a glance. “He’s disappeared.”

“What? Why?” Dean asked.

Sam cleared his throat. “There were two wars,” he said. “One in Heaven and one in Hell. In order to help, you met with Cain—the first murderer.”

“Cain?” Dean asked.

“As in Cain and Able,” Cas supplied. “Cain murdered Able and became the most powerful demon in existence, training the Knights of Hell."

Dean blinked and said, “Do I have a death wish?”

Sam and Cas shared a glance before Cas turned to Dean.

“Since we were involved in both wars, you asked Cain for his power in order to end the wars. He gave it to you, but the Mark was not meant for humans.”

“What was it meant for?” Dean asked.

“Demons,” Sam said softly.

“So, what? I self-destructed?” Dean asked.

“No,” Sam said, heart heavy. “You—you were killed. A-an angel stabbed you. But the Mark wouldn't let you go, we think. It turned you into a demon.”

Dean opened his mouth, but seemed speechless.

“We knew it was a possibility, sort of,” Sam said. “But to see it . . . The last I saw before you disappeared, you were with the King of Hell and you . . .” he took a deep breath. “You were gone,” he finished.

“We’ve been trying to find a way to reverse the Mark,” Cas explained. “But there’s little known about it.”

“We can cure demons, Cas,” Sam reminded him. “We can try that on Dean.”

“We can cure regular demons,” Cas corrected him. “Dean is not a regular demon. He is the second most powerful demon alive, able to kill angels, demons, and anything else he wishes. He has the most powerful weapon in history at his disposal. He will not go down easily.”

“I’m a demon?” Dean cut in, looking at Sam first, then Cas.

Sam nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We tried to save you.”

Dean drained the bottle. “This is fucked up,” he muttered.

“Tell me about it. I’ve lived it.” Sam tried to joke, but it fell flat in the silence that ensured.

“So what now?” Dean asked.

“Now,” Sam looked over at Cas. “Now we try to split up myself and my younger self, and then get back home.”

“I don’t think Bobby has books on time travel,” Dean said.

“No,” Sam shook his head. “But the Bunker does.”

“What bunker?” Dean demanded.

“Our home,” Sam said. “Our grandfather showed us.”

“Our grandparents are dead,” Dean said.

Sam shook his head. “Henry Winchester was a Man of Letters. Basically he was a supernatural scientist. A Knight of Hell, Abbadon, tried to wipe them all out and steal the knowledge of the Bunker. Henry time traveled to the future and met us. He died helping us capture Abaddon.”

“Really?” Dean asked. “So what is this bunker?”

“The Bunker is the greatest collection of knowledge on Earth,” Cas said.

“Bet Bobby loved it,” Dean said.

Sam shook his head again. “Bobby died before we found it.”

“Then how long have you lived there?” Dean demanded. “How—how long does Bobby have left?”

“We moved in a little over a year ago,” Sam said. “Bobby died two years ago. For you, he’d have been killed in three years.”

“That soon,” Dean said and closed his eyes for a moment.

“Yeah,” Sam said, wishing more than ever he could just save Dean, give him the life his brother deserved, instead of the fucked-up future he got.

“You were right,” Dean said, re-opening his eyes. “You live in a crap future.”

***

Cas and Dean were asleep, each exhausted and sprawled out on the two beds. Sam had offered to take the couch, citing that Cas needed to sleep on a real bed, since he hadn't for the last two weeks, and Dean needed time to process what they had told him. The couch, of course, was too small, and instead of facing his nightmares he called Pamela and told her about the new development. She was proud that Sam told Dean and asked slyly that if she got his body back, if she could maybe spent some quality time with both Sams at once. Sam politely told her no and wished her a good night before hanging up.

“So she knew?” Dean’s sleep-roughened voice asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said without turning around. “I had only been in this time for a little while. I needed help.”

“You couldn’t have asked me?” Dean asked.

“You had just gotten out of Hell,” Sam said. “I didn’t want to dump this on you.”

“You knew Cas—the, uh, other Cas—had pulled me out,” Dean said. “You knew that angels were real.”

“Yeah,” Sam said.

“You’re a good actor,” Dean said. “I’ll give you that.”

“Thanks, I think,” Sam said cautiously, twisting his head to look over at Dean. “I’m sorry I lied.”

“I’m sorry too,” Dean said, his face unreadable in the darkness.

It was silent again, and Sam wondered if Dean had gone back to sleep. He switched on a lamp and pulled out a small notebook, writing some lines on the thin paper.

“Hey Sam?” Dean asked after a few minutes of Sam scratching out words.

“Yeah?” Sam asked and put the pencil down.

“We haven’t been brothers for a long time in your time, have we?”

“No,” Sam managed, choking up slightly and hating himself for it. “We haven’t been.”

Dean said nothing, and Sam continued to write.


	6. Never Let Your Fear Decide Your Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets a surprise . . . and he's not sure if he wants it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! Here we see strands wrapping up at the moment, so hope you enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the White House, nor do I own Supernatural.
> 
> Chapter title comes from Kill Your Heroes by AWOLNATION (much more upbeat than those other songs, huh?)
> 
> Please review! It really brightens my day, and it will make me write the other story for this 'verse faster!

_“The past has been there all along, reminding us: This time—maybe, hopefully, against all odds, we will get it right.”_ —Leslie T. Chang

“So, this Chuck guy is a prophet?” Dean asked, watching Sam and Cas pack. He was leaning against the wall, eyeing the various items that disappeared into the canvas duffle bag. 

“Yeah,” Sam said. “He’s been writing about our lives, a series called _Supernatural_.”

“And people read it?” Dean demanded.

“Not many,” Sam said. “But the ones we’ve met are . . . obsessive.”

“I read them when I was human,” Cas said idly. “Not many—they were out of print. Metatron had read them all, so I know what they all contain. Chuck was not the best writer.”

Sam stopped and looked at him. “Why did you read them?” he asked.

Cas shrugged. “I figured it was good to know how to be human, and learning from you two was preferable. I remember Jersey Shore.”

Sam and Dean laughed. “Never watch TV shows if you don’t know how to be human,” Dean smirked, sounding better after a night's rest. “Humans are nothing like that.”

“Sam told me that repeatedly when you and I watched _Doctor Sexy M.D._ ,” Cas agreed.

Dean choked. “We watched that?” he asked with a bright grin on his face.

“Better that than some of the porn he found,” Sam offered with a smile.

Dean’s sides heaved with laughter. “Dude, when does this happen?”

“In two years,” Sam said. “You remember the pizza man, Cas?”

Cas’ sighed. “I still do not understand it.”

“Good,” Sam said and zipped the duffle bag up. “Try not to.”

Cas nodded. “Should I come?” he asked Sam.

Sam glanced at Dean. “You came to us last . . . the first time. The angel you. He will again.”

Cas sighed. “I will be in the vicinity,” he said. “Call if you need me.”

“Call . . . on a phone?” Dean asked.

“I have his number,” Sam said as he strode to the door with the bag.

“When did Cas learn to use a phone?” Dean demanded, following Sam outside.

“Cas needed to learn,” Sam said and shoved his bag in the Impala's trunk. “He’s been human for a while.”

“I’m just trying to wrap my head around the fact that the nerdy dude with wings who pulled me out of Hell and doesn’t know what a phone _is_ . . . turns into him.” He jerked a finger at Cas.

Cas smiled slightly before looking at Dean stoically. “I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition, Dean Winchester,” he said, and though he was dressed nothing like his trench-coated counterpart, he looked and sounded exactly like his younger self. Dean blinked in shock at the change. Cas relaxed and grinned, clapping Dean on the shoulder. Dean shook his head moved towards the driver's side, but Cas did not follow him to the car.

“Wait, isn't he coming with us?” Dean asked. “Tell me you weren’t serious. We can’t just abandon him here.”

“No, I will steal a car and follow behind,” Cas said. “I will see you after we have captured and trapped Lilith.”

“Steal a . . . never mind.” Dean shook his head. "Isn't that against the rules of Heaven, or something? Stealing, I mean."

Cas shrugged. "I have not been to Heaven in a while," his voice was heavy with longing and regret. "I have had to adjust."

Dean looked at him in sympathy. “You seem pretty confident that you’ll get the demon hell-bitch.” 

“We have taken her out before,” Cas said. “Well, Sam has. And we have faced more dangerous things than her in the past.”

Dean shook his head. “That’s messed up,” he muttered.

Sam grimaced in apology. “Sorry, dude. We’ll meet you there,” he told Cas before the dark-haired man turned away and walked off alone down the street.

"I think I like the guy," Dean said, shooting Sam a smile that lacked his usual warmth, but was genuine nonetheless.

Sam only nodded before he and Dean got into the Impala, Sam telling Dean where they needed to go.

“So,” Dean said once they were moving. “What are the plans for getting my brother back?”

Sam sighed. “Cas has been looking into it,” he said. “He thinks he’s found a spell that would transport my mind into my body again as well as one that would get us home.

“He brought your body?” Dean asked, surprised.

Sam shook his head. “It’s lying in a summoning circle back in our time. We’ll summon it later.”

“How do I explain Sam’s memory loss to Bobby?” Dean sighed. “We didn’t know what was goin’ on with you,” he admitted. “The old man was worried, though he’d never admit it.”

“Yeah, I know he was,” Sam said, looking out the window. “We can tell him, if you want.”

Dean glanced at him. “Really?” he asked in surprise. “After hiding for a year?”

“Well, we’ll be leaving soon.” Sam reasoned. “And . . . it’d be nice to talk to Bobby as I am. Not as your Sam.”

“You’re my Sam, too,” Dean said. “You’re Sam, past, present, and future.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not the Sam you left in that suburban house,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen things you could never imagine and have grown so much from the Sam you know. I’m Sam, but I’m not a Sam you would _want_ to know.”

“Let me decide that, bitch.” Dean grinned, and Sam couldn’t stop himself from returning the smile.

“And, anyways, you still have your Dean,” Dean pointed out.

“No I don’t,” Sam said. “He’s a demon right now.”

Dean's expression soured. “Thanks," he muttered. "I wanted to forget that,”

Sam shrugged. “You’ll never see him,” he said. “Cas and I will deal with him when we return to our time.”

“You were going on ‘bout a cure?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded. “We know how to cure demons in our time. The Men of Letters figured it out and we tracked a survivor of the massacre down. He told us.”

“So you've cure any demons with it?”

“No,” Sam grimaced. “It works, though. I had almost finished when I was . . . interrupted. The demon I was working over was acting human, spilling out things about love and forgiveness.”

“It could’ve been lying,” Dean suggested.

“No, it was real.” Sam said. “Trust me. I know when demons lie, and this one wasn’t lying. He was a mess, tears and all. He was almost human.”

“What happened to him? After?”

“We kept him in our dungeon—”

“You’ve a dungeon?” Dean asked excitedly.

Sam grinned. “A hidden, secret dungeon,” he said. “Anyway, we kept him there for a while until we let him go. He was addicted to human blood.”

Dean looked at him weirdly. “Demons can get addicted to human blood?”

“Apparently,” Sam shook his head. “Surprised us, too.”

“Anything else you can cure?” Dean asked.

“Vampires,” Sam offered.

“Really?” Dean asked. “Dude, what how the hell did you find that out?”

“You’d been turned.” Sam said. Dean deflated.

“Seriously? First a demon, then a vampire? What the hell have I been doing?”

“You also befriended a vampire.” Sam said playfully.

“ _. . . What?_ ” Dean shouted, looking at Sam in shock. “ _Why?_ ”

“He saved your life,” Sam said. “He was okay, I guess. I was afraid he was using you like Ruby used me, so I tried to break you apart.”

“Did it work?” Dean asked.

“For a little bit,” Sam said.

“Was he using me?”

“No,” Sam said. “I think he honestly wanted to be your friend.”

“Weird,” Dean said. “And to think I enjoy killing those blood fuckers.”

Sam shrugged. “Benny was a good man, in the end.”

“Benny . . . one of the people you listed as dead.” Dean said.

“Yeah,” Sam said.

“Huh.” Dean said then changed the topic. “So Lilith will be waiting for us there?”

“Yeah. She’ll be waiting for me at a motel.”

“Does it matter which one?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. “Without hex bags, she’ll find me. So, no, I don’t think it does.”

“And you’re just gonna waltz into a motel and trap Lilith.”

“Yeah,” Sam looked down at his lap. “I’ve done crazier.”

Dean shook his head. “This is so bizarre,” he muttered. “Freakin’ . . . Glenn Close crazy.”

Sam cracked a smile. “Yeah.”

“So tell me about the demon blood,” Dean said abruptly. “Since you think my Sam might have to deal with it.”

“He might. I’m not exactly an expert at possessing your younger self—who happened to be addicted to demon blood—for a year. Haven’t done this before. But the blood—it’s highly addictive.” Sam said. “Ruby approached me several times after you died. I was drunk—on alcohol—and constantly picking fights with demons. I’d’ve gotten myself killed if it wasn’t for her.”

“I thought she was evil,” Dean frowned.

“She is,” Sam said. “But there’s really no point in trying to manipulate a person to do your dirty work if they think you’re evil.”

Dean nodded.

“It took a while to get me to drink her blood,” Sam admitted. “For the first two months I would work with her, but I’d . . . I’d promised you not to use my psychic abilities. Then . . . there was this little girl. A demon had possessed her. I exorcised it, but she didn’t—didn’t make it.” Sam rested his head against the glass and sighed. “I got so drunk that night I’d’ve agreed to anything. And Ruby . . . she promised that nothing like that would happen with my honed abilities. That I could exorcise demons with my mind and the host . . . they’d live.”

“With you _mind?_ ” Dean asked, staring at Sam in shock. Sam sighed again.

“Look Dean,” he said. “It was crazy, but it worked. I did save people. It was wrong, and I shouldn’t’ve done it, but I did and people lived because of it. Anyway, I worked on it for the next two months until you got back. That put a damper in things.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. “I thought I was better than you. That you were weak and didn’t have what it takes to be a hunter.”

“Oh,” Dean said quietly.

“It’s addictive,” Sam said. “You've got _no idea_ just how addicting it is. And since Ruby was, essentially, my dealer, I was very loyal to her, and would take her word over yours.”

“You betrayed me over her,” Dean realized, catching what Sam was hinting at.

“I choose her over you,” Sam’s voice was pained. “I just wanted Lilith dead. I couldn’t be happy with your return. She had to die. It’s not logical, not reasonable. It just . . . it’s what I felt I needed.”

“Why . . .” Dean took a breath. “Was that when we broke?”

“Looking back, I think, yes,” Sam said. “You . . . you don’t wear the amulet, in my time. You threw it in the trash.”

“That bad,” Dean said quietly.

Sam breathed a laugh. “Yeah, well, I messed up. I messed up and I paid the price.”

“You went to Hell to fix things,” Dean said. “I don’t know about my future self, but for me that kinda covers the apology.”

Sam looked at him, only to find his brother looking straight at Sam, forgiveness clear in his expression. Something inside of Sam warmed, even as he shook his head. “Maybe. But I . . . I can’t forgive myself. I’ll be paying for it for the rest of my life.”

“Well,” Dean said. “That might not be long. Y’know, given the future you come from.”

Sam looked over at him to see his brother to see him grinning. “Thanks,” he said sarcastically. “You know, I’ve died quite a few times already. I don’t think the next time I die it’ll be permanent.”

“Yikes,” Dean said. “Do I still have you beat?”

“You don’t even _remember_ the Mystery Spot,” Sam protested. “It doesn’t count.”

“Do you remember it?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Sam said.

“Then it counts,” Dean said smugly.

“Jerk.” Sam rolled his eyes. Dean shot him a surprised look.

“. . . Bitch,” he replied.

***

“So if it’s an addiction, then how do we wean Sammy off of it?” Dean asked. It was a few hundred miles later. They’d blasted through several cassette tapes, both singing along off-tune. Sam had been enjoying himself, but was resigned for another round of Spanish Inquisition.

“Last time you and Bobby locked me in the Panic Room,” Sam said. “It’s brutal. I saw visions of people I love telling me just how much they hate me and see me as a monster. My psychic powers go to hell, flinging me across the room. I had to be restrained, otherwise I’d’ve hurt myself.”

“’Sounds bad’ seems to be an understatement.” Dean said. “Yikes. But you made it, I see.”

“I did,” Sam said. “I’ve only gone through it completely twice.”

“What?” Dean asked.

“The first time you and Bobby tried to get me off it Ca—uh, Ruby freed me. Then after I killed Lilith . . . someone . . . vanished its effects. I’ve gone through twice next year when some hunters force fed me it and, later, when the Horsemen Famine made me crave it. I killed some demons that were trying to kill me and drank them dry.”

“But if you trap Lilith, that won’t happen, right?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. “No,” he said. “Just . . . be prepared, okay? If your Sam has to go through this, it’s not going to be easy or fun and he’s going to be resentful, moody, and acting superior.”

“I almost prefer you,” Dean said.

Sam snorted. “He’ll be glad to see you,” he insisted softly. “It’ll just be hard on him.”

“Hard on all of us, you mean,” Dean said.

***

Sam slept fitfully in the Impala.

He hadn’t had very much sleep the night before, and so when Dean’s thirst for knowledge was quenched, Sam leaned against the window and dozed.

_“Hiya Sammy.”_

_Black eyes._

_“Dean, stop,” he said. “Please, for me, stop.”_

_“Why Sam?” Dean asked, standing over a sobbing woman._

_“It’s wrong!” Sam shouted._

_“It’s fun,” Dean corrected, eyes black and cold._

_“You’re supposed to be the most human of us,” Sam said, shaking. Dean started to walk towards him, and though Sam wanted to flee, he couldn’t._

_“Right,” Dean said. “The angel. You. You have demon blood in you, right Sammy? You’ve fucked demons. You’ve drank their blood. Hell, your eyes have gone black.”_

_“I know.” Sam managed. “This . . . it . . .”_

_Dean grinned wickedly. “Imagine the fun we could have,” he said. He reached into his leather jacket and withdrew a silver knife. “You still thirsting for some demon juice, Sammy?” he asked and sliced his forearm._

_“No,” Sam said, staring at the blood welling up in fear._

_Dean watched almost absentmindedly. “Y’know,” he said. “Being a demon . . . ain’t half bad.”_

_“No!” Sam shouted and pushed at Dean. He ran out of the room and into a long hallway, Dean’s heartless laughter echoing in his ears. He could hear footsteps behind him and he ran faster until his foot caught and he fell forwards into darkness . . ._

_“Because I’m the oldest, which means I’m always right.”_

_“Just let it go, brother.”_

_“Hey guys. Am I interrupting something?”_

_“Hey, Tuesday, Pig and a poke.”_

_“I’m here, Sam. I’m not gonna leave you.”_

_“Dammit Sammy!”_

_“That’s fake me. This must be fake mine.”_

_“Cas is fine. Sam, are you okay?”_

_“SAM!”_

_“No, I’m gonna take care of you.”_

_“Bring me some pie!”_

_“I promise.”_

_“I’m proud of us.”_

_Black eyes._

_Dark._

***

Sam entered the motel room alone. Cas had, in fact, followed along behind them, and had managed to collect everything they needed for a spell he had found. Before Sam had gone into the motel where Lilith was waiting for him, he, Dean, and Cas had gone over the plan. Once Cas was sure Sam knew the spell, his friend had agreed to let him go on with his plan. Dean had gone out to talk to Cas about bringing in Castiel. Cas wasn’t sure if that was a good idea, knowing that though he had doubts right now, his younger self was still very much a soldier of Heaven and its Host.

Inside was a blonde woman clothed in a simple white gown sitting seductively on the bed.

“Sam,” she purred, patting the edge of the bed. “Come sit.”

“You here to kill me?” Sam asked calmly.

“To Deal,” she corrected.

“About what?” Sam asked.

“I’m offering to stand down,” Lilith said. “From the Seals, the Apocalypse, all of it.”

“Am I supposed to believe that?” Sam asked.

“Honestly? No. You were always the smart one. But it's the truth. You can end it, Sam. Right here, right now. I'll stop breaking seals, Lucifer keeps rotting in his cage. All you have to do is agree to my terms.”

“What do you want from me?” Sam asked.

“Your head on a stick. Dean's, too. Call it a consolation prize. So what do you say, Sam? Self-sacrifice is the Winchester way, isn't it?”

“It is,” Sam agreed, thinking of the Cage, of the Trials, of the Mark. “I, however, have a counter-offer.”

“Oh?” Lilith asked, annoyed.

Sam held up a glass bottle with some unidentifiable herbs inside. _"Ego autem,”_ he chanted. Lilith’s eyes widened in terror and she tried to smoke out, but the smoke did not escape like she’d hoped, but was rather dragged slowly towards the bottle. “ _te illius laqueo, daemon,_ ” Sam continued. Lilith’s smoke reached the bottle’s opening and began to swirl inside. Lightning crackled inside of the glass like Sam had managed to capture a miniature storm. “ _pro omni tempore!_ ” Sam finished, watching Lilith writhe inside the bottle. He closed the lid, watching Lilith’s dead meatsuit fall to the ground. He walked over and picked her up, placing her gently on the bed. He arranged her hands on either side of her body before walking outside, spotting Dean and Cas talking on the far side of the lot. Cas turned to face Sam.

“It’s done,” Sam said. “I’ve got her.”

Dean and Cas grinned widely.

“Awesome!” Dean said and clapped him on the shoulder. “No Apocalypse!”

Cas simply smiled and held out his hand for the bottle, which Sam gave to him. “I will hide this,” the shorter man said. “Where no one can find it.”

“Where?” Dean asked.

“I have . . . a special place for this.” Cas said. “I’m sure Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles will have no idea what this is, and no one in that universe will open this bottle.”

Sam laughed. “Perfect,” he said warmly. “Hide it well in that universe, will you?”

“What?” Dean asked, clueless.

“You realize, of course, that I will not be able to get back,” Cas told Sam. Sam nodded.

“I’ll fill in Castiel or Anna and have one of them come get you. How long will you need?”

“A few days. If you need me, then get me soon.”

“I will,” Sam promised. “You got everything you need?”

Cas shook his head. “I am missing a few ingredients, but I will find them easily enough. I have a bone of a lesser Saint, and that was the hardest.”

“You've been busy, I see."

Cas raised an eyebrow. "I didn't spend all of those two weeks huddled in an alley waiting for you."

"Of course not. See you in a few days then,” Sam said. Cas hugged him, then Dean, and disappeared into the night.

“You know what?” Dean asked. “Cas really does turn into an okay guy.”

“Yeah,” Sam grinned. “He does. C’mon, let’s go take care of Ruby.”

***

“Sam?” Ruby asked as soon as she appeared. “What’s up?” Sam and Dean stood casually before her, Sam at ease while Dean looked eagerly on, though he stayed in the background.

Sam pointedly looked up. Ruby followed his gaze only to find a Devil’s Trap.

“Sam?” she asked, a tinge of fear growing in her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Lilith is gone,” Sam said. He could see the shock and even more fear enter her eyes.

“That’s great,” she stammered. “You killed her . . . I-I didn’t think you had the juice.”

Dean snorted in the background, but Sam ignored him. Ruby’s eyes flickered hatefully in Dean’s direction before being drawn back to Sam.

“I didn’t,” Sam said. “She’s not dead. But she can’t harm anyone else.”

“Oh,” Ruby said, sounding more and more unsure of herself.

“Y’know,” Sam said and started to circle her. “It was just my luck I time traveled to this year and possessed my younger self. I mean, waking up in 2008 instead of 2014 was a shock, I’ll tell you, but waking up with you . . .”

“What are you saying?” Ruby said, stepping away from him.

Sam grinned, suddenly using his entire bulk to bear down on the demon. “I’m saying I know what you were doing,” he whispered. Ruby looked terrified. “I’m saying that I know what you’ve been doing. I’ve had many regrets when it comes to this year, but the biggest regret I had . . . was not killing you.”

“Sam—” Ruby started, but Sam lashed out with the knife, slicing her face. She screamed in pain.

“Goodbye, Ruby,” Sam said and proceeded to stab her in the gut. Ruby’s mouth opened in shock, her body lighting up with orange light, dark eyes looking up at Sam who smiled darkly back.

The empty body fell down with a pitiful thump, the brown eyes wide and the hair splayed around her face like a dark halo. Sam looked down at the hated face and felt nothing but content.

“Thank god,” Dean said finally. “I’ve wanted to gank that bitch since she first showed up.”

“I haven’t,” Sam said. “But I’ve regretted not killing her for a long time.”

“Congrats, then, dude.” Dean grinned, and Sam grinned back.

***

When Sam told Bobby, the older man just took a swig of gut rot and grunted out an “idjits” before ordering Sam to sit down and tell him about the last year. Sam did so, explaining what he’d done and a bit of what the future was like. Bobby agreed with Dean that the future was shit.

Castiel and Anna were harder. Sam decided to do both at once and to have Dean and Bobby there to help him out if need be. 

“So Cas sold Anna out and Anna was tortured until she went Terminator?” Dean asked, appalled. “Is it a good idea to get ‘em together?”

“Probably not,” Sam said. “But I can set up wards that Anna can enter but Cas can’t.”

“Do it,” Dean ordered. “I don’t care ‘bout how awesome future Cas is—I am not giving Anna up to the dick squad.”

“Agreed.” Sam said and started creating the wards. It was something he and Cas had found in the Bunker back in their time; wards to exclude certain angels and keep others out. He hadn’t had a chance to use them, seeing as the only angel they would want was mostly human. When Sam and Dean called to Anna, the red headed angel looked at them in confusion until Sam explained. Anna was very understanding about the whole thing and stood inside her protective circle while the boys called Castiel. Castiel showed up disgruntled and suspicious, a suspicion that grew upon seeing Anna there. 

"What is she doing here?" he growled.

"We invited her, Cas," Dean said.

Cas strode forwards, only to be stopped by the wards. He looked down, reading the sigils painted onto Bobby's floor. He looked at the brother and his stony face became slightly angered. "What is going on?"

"If you'll allow us to explain . . ." Dean muttered.

Cas' eyes cut to Sam. "This is your doing."

"I'm going to explain everything," Sam said. "Will you listen?"

Castiel hesitated, torn between wanting to satisfy his curiosity and leaving. Eventually, curiosity won out. "I will listen."

And so Sam explained, going into more detail than he had with Bobby, who listened from his seat at his desk.

“So you’re from the future.” Anna said when Sam fell silent.

“Yes,” Sam said. “My mind, at least, and hopefully the rest of me too once Cas gets here.”

“Cas?” Anna asked and shot Castiel a look. “That Cas?”

“No, my Cas from my time,” Sam said. “He’s currently hiding Lilith.”

“The demon,” Cas said flatly. “The one who is breaking the Seals. Surely she is not amendable to that.”

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Sam said, slightly gleefully.

When Sam spoke about trapping Lilith and Cas’ older self hiding her, both angels looked surprised.

“I need one of you to go get him,” Sam explained. “He’s not an angel right now and he can’t travel back.”

“I Fall,” Castiel said, looking a little sick at the thought. Sam felt bad for the angel.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I really am.”

“Why did he Fall?” Castiel demanded.

“Because he wanted to save the world and bring peace to everyone and everyone kept screwing him over,” Sam said. “He’s in charge of Heaven right now, though, if that counts for anything.”

“He’s practically human,” Castiel said. “Why is he in charge? Why do the angels let him rule over Heaven?”

Sam shrugged. “The angels accept his leadership.”

“ _Why?_ ” Castiel asked, sounding more and more appalled.

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I’m human. I don’t understand what regular angels do.”

At the end of it, Anna agreed to go get Cas, Sam and Dean promising to make sure Cas wouldn’t jump her. Cas glared after her as she left and came back minutes later with a slightly tipsy, very indignant Cas.

“Jared and Jensen,” he said. “Smashed a pie on my face and then Jared proceeded to lick it off. That was not an experience I want to live through.” Castiel and Bobby looked at the almost-human in shock as Cas began chewing Sam out for downplaying just how insane Misha, Jared, and Jensen were.

“You seemed to have gone into another universe of that universe,” Sam said. “The Misha we met was a douche, and Jared and Jensen didn’t talk to one another.”

“They got along great,” Cas said grumpily. “They were both laughing and kept picking on me.”

“Did Jared have Alpacas?” Sam asked, grinning.

“No, he had two dogs,” Cas said and sat down slowly. “And then got me drunk. Why is the room spinning? It’s like that time with the Whore.”

“Whoa, Cas,” Dean said. “Easier there. No need to tell us your juicy little secrets.”

Cas shot him a dirty look, ignoring Bobby and the other angels.

“His wife did not seem surprised that I kept calling myself Castiel and only reminded me to set the table,” he continued indignantly. "She must have the patience of a Saint to put up with Misha.”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed.

“I did, however, hide Lilith,” Cas said. “No one will find her.”

“And no one over there will open it?” Sam asked.

Cas shook his head. “The less said the better.” He popped some headache pills in his mouth. The rest of the group was looking at both of them like they were crazy. Maybe they were. Sam couldn’t tell anymore.

Cas finally calmed down and started drawing the summoning circle to bring Sam’s body to the past. Bobby kept asking about the ritual, taking notes in an old journal. Sam waited with Dean and the two angels for Cas to finish. When he was done, Cas stood back and began chanting in Enochian, the chalk outlines glowing with white light. When Cas finished, Sam’s body—his _proper_ body—was lying on the circle with a thump. Sam winced.

Cas turned it over, and Dean, Bobby, Castiel, and Anna got to have a good look at his older face.

“You grew up,” was all Bobby said before stepping back. Sam grinned and helped Cas draw two more circles. They dragged his older body over to one before he left to stand in the other. Cas began chanting again and sliced his hand open, cupping his hand so that it pool in his palm. With that blood he began painting symbols on Sam's forehead and the forehead of his older body. Sam closed his eyes as Cas’ chanting reached its height.

***

_A few weeks earlier_

“I want young Sam to learn,” Sam said as he and Cas said in a diner. Dean was otherwise occupied and Sam had met up with Cas after a small ghost hunt.

“Learn what?” Cas asked, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“That Ruby is evil, that demon blood is not the answer, that revenge gets you nothing but more shit.” Sam stared listlessly out the window. “That can’t happen, can it?”

Cas wiped his hand across his mouth. “I can look into it for you,” he offered. “An add-on to the switching spell. So that you can transfer memories and feelings to your younger self.”

Sam laughed grimly. “Just for this year and a bit of next, is all I want,” he said. “Not even my dick younger self deserves Hell.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Cas agreed. “Your . . . dick . . . younger self has not been able to learn about what his mistakes could cost him.”

“Down side to mind possession,” Sam said and rested his hand on his chin, looking down into his half-full coffee mug. “I almost wish I had had the back seat for this year so I could . . . be his consciousness, maybe?”

“He would have most likely ignored you,” Cas pointed out and resumed eating. “I think the information swap is a good idea. I will research.”

“Thanks,” Sam said gratefully.

***

_Now_

Cas’ chanting increased and Sam felt a link open from his mind to his younger self’s mind, and his younger self began waking up.

_Who’s there?_ A voice suddenly asked in his mind. It was the other Sam’s voice. Softer. More innocent.

_I’m your future self,_ Sam thought back.

_. . . Right,_ Sammy thought. _What are you doing in my head?_

_Time travel,_ Sam thought. _Here._ He started pulling memories out of his mind and pushing them into Sammy’s. Sammy saw the last year as it had gone when Sam had done the first time around and how it went this time and the effects of the first timeline years into the future. 

First Sam skimmed over the major events of the year—how he had done it, and how this Sam would have done it. Sam saw the broken Dean and the darkness that had consumed him. He saw Ruby taunting him as Lucifer was set free and how the next year was. Sam skipped over Hell and his soulless self, merely showing him the after-effects of the Apocalypse (Crowley, the King, the Alphas, Eve, the Leviathans. Bobby’s death. Sam alone after Dean disappeared in an explosion of black goo) and how Sam was broken and Cas was broken and Dean was broken and _painnostophurtrunbeghidepleasestopno_ and how Sam had had a second chance to make things better and there was no way he wasn’t going to take that offer and have Sammy mess it up . . .

Then there was this year. This year with Sam making things right and saving lives and hunting things and _remembering_ what this life was about, because it wasn’t about revenge or hate, it was about protection and love and Sam had to make Sammy see that . . .

Sammy was gasping in rage and fear and hurt and betrayal and guilt and every emotion that Sam himself had felt over the years, desperately wanting to fix everything that had occurred because of his stupidity.

Before Sammy could talk to Sam, Sam was forced away, pulled into his body, his mind following a trail of Cas’ chanting to a familiar body that was his and he felt safe and at home once more. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed _his_ body until he entered it again with the usual aches and pain and smattering of new scars.

***

“Sam?” Cas’ quiet voice asked. Sam blinked, trying to make his friend’s face come into focus.

“Cas?” he asked.

Cas nodded. “Are you alright?”

“My head hurts,” Sam muttered, his mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. His tongue just would _not_ cooperate with him.

Cas shoved some pills at Sam. “Take these,” he ordered. Sam popped one in his mouth and Cas lifted a glass of water to his mouth. Sam sipped eagerly, draining the glass quickly.

A quick look around showed him that he was still lying in the circle, his hair lank and falling into his eyes.

“My younger self?” he asked.

“Awake.” Cas said and glanced over his shoulder. Sam peered past them to see his younger self was sitting in the other circle, looking at Dean as though he had never seen his brother before. “He’s going over the last year with Bobby, Dean, Castiel, and Anna. Ellen and Jo are coming up here and should be here in a couple of hours.”

“We should be gone by then,” Sam said. “I don’t want to see them.”

Cas nodded in understanding. “They are dead in our time, and seeing them here would only make things worse when we return because it would make going back that much harder.”

Sam smiled unhappily. “Exactly,” he said. “You have the rituals prepared?”

Cas nodded. “I have a few things I need to get from my car, but then we should be good. By the way, your younger self seems to already know most of what we tried explaining.”

“I imparted some of my knowledge,” Sam said. 

“It worked,” Cas said in satisfaction. “Any reason why he kept shaking?”

“Thought he might like to see what the demon blood would really do to him.”

“You were manipulated,” Cas said. “Go easy on yourself.”

“I was stupid,” Sam growled, looking anywhere but at his younger self. “I should never have been so _weak_. I was so damn stupid.”

Cas glared at Sam. “Dean said the same thing when you were possessed by Gadreel, and I will say to you what I said to him—you were stupid for the _right_ reasons.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam said. “I always wanted the normal life, and I’m the one who always fails at it. Everyone I love gets hurt, and running only gets more people killed.”

Cas sighed. “Sam,” he said. “I know you never wanted this life, and I know you have wanted to die on more than one occasion. I know that you insist on blaming yourself for mistakes you have already paid penance for. What do you want, Sam? Where are you going?”

Sam looked past Cas to where Dean was hugging Sammy tightly. Castiel was watching with a look of curiosity while Anna looked happy. Bobby was stoic, but Sam could see a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“I have wanted to die,” he said. “But there’s one thing that has stuck with me since the incident with Zachariah this time around. I wanted to go hunting, even with my wiped memories, because it would have meant saving people. I’ve forgotten, over the last few years, what this life ultimately means; saving people, hunting things. It’s not the family business, it’s who we are. It’s who I am. I can’t stop hunting because . . . because people would die when I could have saved them. We fight evil because we can and it’s the right thing to do. It’s a crap life, but . . .” he shot Cas a look. “It’s my life, and I need—no—I _will_ make the best of it.”

Cas smiled. “Mind if I join you?” he asked. “I’m unemployed at the moment.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure. Glad to have the company.”

***

“So,” Sammy’s voice said quietly from the doorway. Sam and Cas looked up to see him leaning against the door frame. “Time travel?”

“Time travel,” Sam confirmed. “It was unexpected.” He and Cas had retreated to the kitchen to leave the rest to talk in privacy. They had been talking about the ritual to get home and what was needed to preform it. They were sitting at the table, looking at Sammy as the voices of the two other humans and angels drifted in.

“I know,” Sammy said. “Why didn’t you just tell Dean?”

“Because I wanted to protect him from what I’ve done, what he’ll do, and what the world would be like,” Sam said quietly. “It was the right thing to do.”

“For you,” Sammy said without much heat. “You lied to Dean for a year.”

“You would have, too,” Sam said. “Just about different things. I was saving the world and his life at the same time. I dunno—I guess it was good reasoning for me.”

Sammy looked down. “Was that really going to happen? The end of the world?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “It was.”

“Ruby betrayed me,” Sammy hissed, hate etched in his face. “She was _using_ me.”

“Yeah,” Sam said and felt so very old next to this Sam. “But you didn’t really do anything unforgiveable.”

“I drank demon blood,” Sammy muttered. “That was wrong.”

“Yeah, but at the time it wasn’t,” Sam said and exchanged a glance with Cas. “So you’re not addicted?”

Sammy shook his head. “No,” he said. “The effects are gone.”

“Your mind is clear,” Sam said. “Keep it that way.”

“How did I not see?” Sammy asked.

“She was clever,” was all Sam could say. “Don’t blame yourself. There . . . there wasn’t a way you could have known. There really wasn’t. She was too good.” He shot a glance at Cas, who smiled encouragingly.

“I still should have seen it,” Sammy said. “She is—was—a demon.”

“Not all demons are pure evil,” Sam thought of Meg and—bitterly—Crowley. “They have very human motivations. Ruby could’ve had a motive that did not include manipulating you into starting the Apocalypse. She could have really and truly wanted Lilith dead.”

“But she didn’t,” Sammy pointed out.

“No,” Sam agreed. “But use this and learn from it.”

“Okay,” Sammy said. There was a brief moment of silence, punctuated by Dean and Castiel arguing about Heaven’s Righteousness.

“I don’t think the dark haired angel likes me,” Sammy said with a sideways glance at Cas. "Your, um, other self, I mean." Cas laughed softly.

“I was told you were an abomination,” he told Sammy. “Prove him wrong. You are a good person, Sam Winchester. You just have to work on your decision making abilities.”

“Yeah,” Sammy said as Sam laughed. “I will.”

Suddenly the room shook, the lights flickering. Sam and Cas stood, looking around as the walls creaked and the windows rattled in their frames.

“Sammy?” Dean called out, panicked. Sam, Sammy, and Cas hurried into the main room, standing with the rest as they looked around.

“What's happening?” Bobby yelled.

Sam and Cas shared a look. “This didn’t happen last time,” Sam said as the room groaned under stress from an invisible force.

“So, what, you changed things and this happens?” Dean barked. "Is this like _Back to the Future_? Are we all going to fade out?"

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, opening them to look at the group with wounded, tortured eyes. “No,” he said. “This has nothing to do with your time and everything to do with mine.”

“What do you mean?” Anna didn't move from her protective circle, but she looked like she wanted to bolt.

“This person is from my time,” Sam said. “Don’t attack, don’t do anything. Let me and Cas handle this.”

“Who is it?” Sammy hissed as, all at once, the shaking died. Footsteps climbed the stairs outside and three knocks resounded on the door.

“It’s my brother,” Sam said as the door burst open and Dean Winchester stood before it, eyes black and smirk cold.

“Hiya Sammy,” he said. “There you are. Been looking all over for you.”


	7. Call Me A Sinner, Call Me A Saint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam works some things out, and maybe starts to see a little hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is the last chapter! I struggled writing it. It’s been worked over several times, because I wanted to end it perfectly. Well, there is no such thing as perfect, so this’ll have to do. Hope you all like Demon Dean! I wasn’t sure how to write him, but I think I did okay. I was torn between making him really evil or Dean with human boundaries, and the human boundaries won. I hope I wrote a satisfactory Demon!Dean. Please feel free to give me feedback, and keep looking for more stories! I’ve got two sequels already written, but what do you want to see in this universe? Please let me know what you’d be most interested in—Sam and Dean visiting that future perhaps? What happened to season 4 after they left? PLEASE let me know! Prompts in the form of questions, songs, etc. are also welcome :) 
> 
> Please note that I wrote this weeks ago, long before the teaser trailer for season 10 came out. This is MY take, and mine alone!
> 
> Also, just wanted to thank all my reviewers. With all the lovely comments, I’ve written two sequels when I didn’t think I would. It was literally me sitting down and writing for four hours straight, so please know your comments help me! I would love to write more, but I want to hear your voice.
> 
> Title is from the song is ‘Call Me’ by Shinedown. 
> 
> Enjoy this last chapter!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the universe, nor do I own Supernatural.

_“They say a person needs just three things to be truly happy in this world: someone to love, something to do, and something to hope for.”_ —Tom Bodett 

_Previously:_

_“This person is from my time.” Sam said. “Don’t attack, don’t do anything. Let me and Cas handle this.”_

_“Who is it?” Sammy shouted as, all at once, the shaking died. Footsteps climbed the stairs outside and three knocks resounded on the door._

_“It’s my brother,” Sam said as the door burst open and Dean Winchester stood before it, eyes black and smirk cold._

_“Hiya Sammy,” he said. “There you are. Been looking all over for you.”_

***

“Dean,” Sam said cordially, not allowing any emotions to bleed into his face of voice. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Dean chuckled and started walking around the room, eyeing the others—including his younger self—and easily avoiding the Devil’s Traps in the room. The black gave way to his regular eye color. “Yeah, well,” he shrugged, nonchalant. “Cas is good, I’ll give you that. But I am a Legacy, and his wards didn’t keep me out for long.”

“And the spell?” Sam asked, not moving at all but for his eyes, tracking his brother’s movements.

“Cas left it out,” Dean said. He stopped in front of their younger selves and turned his head to smirk at Sam. “It was just lyin’ out on the tables. It was easy to copy and preform.”

“Well, welcome to 2009,” Sam said.

“You managed to clean up pretty well, I'll give you that.” Dean paused in front of Sammy, eyeing him. “Lilith is gone?”

Sam nodded. “Trapped her and locked her away.”

“Good,” Dean said and continued moving. Sammy looked sick, eyeing Dean in shock and horror. Younger Dean just looked resigned, knowing ahead of time what he’d turned out to be, yet hating it all the same. Bobby was just . . . the old man was looking at Dean with a stoic expression, clearly not liking what he saw, but powerless to do anything.

Sam sighed. He and Dean needed to have a long talk, and Sam hoped the old man—who was adverse to ‘chick-flick’ moments as Dean was—would let this conversation slide. This needed to happen. It was long overdue.

“Y’know,” Dean said, and suddenly he was addressing his younger self, who glared with loathing. “We were so afraid of turnin’ into a demon, but we just had to save Sammy, right? The Deal was natural, the price worth it. But . . . well, what we were really afraid of was the fact that we weren’t strong enough. That’d we’d get off that rack and carve us up some souls.”

“So?” Younger Dean spat.

Dean shrugged. “We did, and it’s not half bad,” he grinned, and his eyes flickered black for a moment. “It’s really not.”

Younger Dean threw a punch, but Dean just batted it away. “I’ve been to Purgatory,” he told his younger self. “For a year I fought every kind of monster you can think of, running and learning and growing. You’ll never be able to take me down.”

“I can try,” Younger Dean growled.

Dean laughed, throwing his head back. “Try,” he said, pointing his finger at his younger self, “is the key word there. I’d kill you before you even got a chance to do damage.”

“You’d be killing your younger self,” Sammy said. He looked terrible; he watched Dean walk around with a sick look, trying to reconcile the demon before him as his brother. It was hard, Sam knew. It was probably worse for Younger Dean.

“Would I?” Dean asked and stepped back, away from the group. “’Cause I certainly don’t remember this ever happening.”

“It’s an alternate timeline,” Cas agreed.

“Yatzhee,” Dean said, smirking at Cas. “So, I could kill you all and take over this God forsaken world if I wanted to.”

“We’d stop you,” Castiel said, striding forwards to glare at Dean.

“You could try,” Dean agreed and pulled out the First Blade from his jacket pocket. The rough jawbone was missing a few teeth, and there was dried blood crusted over it. Sam knew that it had been well used in the time he’d been gone. Both Anna and Castiel flinched at the power the blade emitted. Though Sam himself could not feel it, Cas had told him about it after he had first encountered it.

Castiel refused to take a step back, staring at Dean.

“Not gonna work, angel,” Dean said. “You don’t scare me.”

“No,” Castiel agreed. “But I know you. I built you up atom by atom as I raised you from Perdition.”

Dean snorted. “It’s been a long time,” he said lightly, though there was an undercurrent of pent up rage echoing along his words. “I highly doubt you know _anything_ about me anymore.”

“Me? No,” Castiel said. “But he does,” he nodded to Cas, who stared at Dean with the same intense look. Suddenly it didn’t matter that their Cas was Fallen, clothed in dirty and worn clothes, and hadn’t shaved in a few days. He looked just as terrifying and otherworldly as his younger self in that moment.

“You didn’t go to Hell to become a demon, Dean,” Cas said quietly. “You were human when you changed, in our world, trying to save Heaven from Metatron.”

“And see where that got me?” Dean said, turning to face Cas.

“I do,” Cas said in that same tone. “But we can fix it.”

Dean smiled dangerously. “Not gonna happen,” he said and swung at Cas. Sam shouted and leapt in front of the fallen angel, blocking Dean’s hit. He was vaguely aware of people shouting in the background, but most of his concentration was on Dean. He kicked out at Dean’s knee, hoping to connect and maybe knock him back, but his brother dodged to the side with a grin and parried with an elbow to the face. It hit Sam’s nose, blood trickling down his lip and he groaned, glaring at Dean.

“C’mon, Sammy, that all you got?” Dean taunted, throwing out another punch. With a growl Sam sidestepped and slammed his fist into Dean’s gut. The air left Dean’s lungs, but Dean no longer needed air, and he stepped away to kick at Sam. Sam redirected the kick, knocking it into a stack of books that fell in a mess of fluttering papers.

“Hear me out, Dean,” Sam panted. “Please. Just listen to me.”

“I don’t think so,” Dean said and backhanded Sam. Sam fell to the ground, arm raised, when Cas stepped in front of him.

“Cas!” Sam shouted, trying to crawl back to his feet.

“Think about what you’re doing,” Cas said, urgently, “You are hurting your brother, someone you have sworn to protect. You are still very much human, Dean. _Think_ about what you’re doing.”

“Like I care. I’m a demon,” Dean said. “I _was_ human.”

“Whatever happened to Team Free Will, Dean?” Sam asked, wiping blood away from his nose. “One ex-blood junkie, one drop out with six bucks to his name and Mr. Comatose?”

Dean laughed. “There is no free will,” he said. “Haven’t we been shown that enough times?”

“So we give up?” Sam demanded. “Let everything drop because we decide we’re done?”

“You’re the one who’s always wanted to get out.” Dean said. “Don’t see why now wouldn’t be a good time for you to suddenly want on the bus.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not leaving,” he said. “I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I know that this life—this is the life I’m going to live.”

“You’ve said that before,” Dean dismissed. “Doesn’t mean anything now.”

“It does this time,” Sam said. “Just trust me.”

“After all you’ve done?” Dean spat, eyes hard and hateful. "Sorry, Sammy. There's too much between us."

Younger Dean and Sammy were looking at Dean with horror. Sam hoped that the two could see just how fucked up Sam and Dean were and would try hard not to turn out like them. Bobby was standing by his desk, not saying anything, letting things continue to play out. Sam was intensely grateful for it, even though he knew the grizzled hunter wanted them to get some sense. Anna had wrapped her arms around her waist, watching the events with wide eyes and Castiel was still glaring at Dean. Sam got to his feet, staring straight at Dean without fear.

“Shall we go through the list, Sam?" his brother taunted, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "For our audience? Choosing Ruby, freeing Lucifer, losing your soul—going insane. Trying to kill Benny,” Sam hadn’t told Younger Dean and the rest about some of those, and he felt their questioning gazes burning on his skin, but he looked only at his brother.

“Yeah?” Sam asked. “You’ve messed up too, Dean. It’s part of life. I will always try to make up for my sins, but I can’t do that without you, because you’re the only one who knows, and the only one whose forgiveness matters to me.”

“You’ll be waiting forever, then.” Dean laughed.

Sam shrugged. “So what? Just trust me to do this right now, Dean. Trust me to help you, and we’ll cure you, Dean.”

“What if I don’t want to be cured?” Dean sneered. “What then?”

“Then we’ll work it out,” Sam said hoarsely. “Just like we always do.”

Dean tilted his head, eyes once again black.

“We will,” Sam said. “You just have to trust me, Dean, just for a little bit. Please.”

Dean raised his hand to snap his fingers, and suddenly he and Sam weren’t in Bobby’s house anymore. Sam recognized the field that they were in—Stull Cemetery. The headstones, the patches of grass, it was all the same.

A crow cawed harshly, flapping overhead to land in a skeletal tree nearby. Sam sought out his brother to see that Dean was looking at a small plot of dirt. It was where Sam fell into the Cage with Lucifer and Michael, Sam realized with a jolt.

“Why would you help me?” Dean asked. “What’s in it for you?” he looked up, eyes clear and green. The mask he’d put up back at Bobby’s, the evil demon with no emotions, was replaced by Dean and for a moment Sam could pretend that everything was okay and they were just on another hunt, kicking back with a few beers on the Impala and watching the stars.

Because this Dean _hadn’t_ been to Hell. He _remembered_ what being human was like, and because he wasn’t some grunt demon, he could still . . . feel. Because demons had been people, and people had emotions and though most demons felt only hate and greed and lust and darkness, Dean knew what the light felt like and he . . . he was still Dean, deep down.

Dean had told him about Cain, after the event. Cain had fallen in love and had grieved her murder so much he killed his life’s work—the Knights—and retired. Perhaps those with the Mark were more human than those who simply died and went to Hell. They had humanity still within their reach.

“I’d get to have my brother,” Sam said at last, weighing the words carefully. “Dean—I’ve been in 2008 and ‘9 for a year.”

“It’s only been a few days back in our time,” Dean said, frowning.

“But here it’s been longer,” Sam said. “I’ve . . . I’ve been with your younger self. Hunting. Trying to change the future. And I missed it, Dean. We haven’t been brothers in a long time.”

“Yeah, well, betrayal does tend to put a damper in relationships,” Dean said.

Sam grimaced. “I know,” he said quietly. “But this Sam and Dean—they get a second chance. They get to start over, go back to hunting and—and being _family_.”

“We are family,” Dean said.

Sam shook his head. “We share the same blood,” he corrected. “But being _family_ . . . that takes work from both sides. It’s like any relationship—we have to work on it and keep it strong. And we let it slip. We’re family because we share the same parents right now. But I don’t want to just be related—I want to have my brother back. So please, Dean. Let me help you.”

Dean sighed and looked at Sam for a long moment. “You’re serious about it,” he said. "You're serious about tryin' to be brothers with a demon."

Sam nodded. “I am.”

Dean was silent for a long time, trying to reason through emotions that must seem completely foreign to him, now. His brother could feel more than any other demon, but he was still a demon. His faced twitched and his eyes flicker between black and green a few times as he thought. Sam remained silent, having nothing further to say to convince Dean to give them another chance.

“I’ll try,” Dean said at last. “I’ll try because, unlike Ruby, I do remember being human. I don’t know if the cure will work, but we can try it. And if it doesn’t . . .”

“I’m not giving up,” Sam swore, feeling more relieved than he thought possible. “Demon or not, we can work on this, Dean. We—I—won’t give up. I promise.”

“You better be serious,” Dean warned, his eyes still hard and cold.

“I am.” Sam said truthfully.

They looked at each other for a long moment.

“Bitch,” Dean said softly.

“Jerk,” Sam replied without hesitation.

Dean hesitated, still looking at Sam, before slowly nodding and tucking the First Blade away.

***

When Dean took them back to the junk yard later, Dean sent Sam back to Bobby’s house alone. Sammy and Younger Dean were both shocked and Sammy kept babbling about Dean’s black eyes. Bobby pulled Sam aside.

“Can you help Dean?” he asked quietly, gruffly.

“I’m gonna try,” Sam said quietly. “Thanks for not shooting or stabbing him.”

Bobby snorted. “Wouldn’t’ve done much good.”

“No,” Sam agreed. “It wouldn’t. But you tried to shoot the Devil, and it did zip, so I knew you might have.”

“He’s still Dean, I guess.” Bobby shrugged. “’S good enough for me.” He left Sam to grab some whiskey, downing a shot before refilling the cup.

“So where is Dean?” Anna asked, coming up to Sam. Though she’d been quiet, the question sliced through the room, quieting the inhabitants. Anna looked nervously at Castiel and retreated back to her warded circle. Sam followed her, leaning against the wall to see everyone.

Sam looked around at all the eager faces and smiled bitterly. “He’s helping out.”

“Dean is,” Sammy asked skeptically. “The Dean with the black eyes, who is now a demon. That Dean.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “He is. He’s killing known threats.”

“So, what, like future hunts?” Younger Dean demanded.

Sam laughed and shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’ve got that covered.” From within his jacket he withdrew his small leather journal. “This has a lot of major hunts in it,” he said. “And how our timeline went. I don’t think you have to worry about it, but this has all of our past written in it.” He passed it over to Younger Dean. “I hope it helps.”

“You got those cures in here?” Younger Dean asked.

Sam nodded. “The cure for demons and vampires as well as what to do with Alphas and Eve and how to kill Leviathans and basically everything that I could think of. I also explained how to stop a Knight of Hell, what to do with our grandfather when he comes to this time, and several other things. It’s a literal How-To guide for hunters.”

Younger Dean whistled in appreciation. “Wow, this is incredible.” He opened it and scanned the pages, Sammy peering over his shoulder and reading with him. “Thanks.”

Sam grinned bashfully. “Figured it might make hijacking your brother’s body for a year more bearable.”

“All is forgiven,” Dean said. “Take a look, nerd boy.”

Sammy happily took the small book as Dean shoved it at him and thumbed through it. “You’ve been busy,” he said.

“Yeah,” Sam laughed.

“So what is Dean doing?” Castiel asked.

“He’s killing some angels and demons.” Sam said. At Castiel’s alarmed look he hastily tacked on, “Not all angels. Just some like Zachariah and Raphael. They’d try to start the Apocalypse again.”

“Which would be bad,” Anna said. “How did you manage to convince him to stop? He looked serious.”

“He was, maybe,” Sam said. “But . . . well, I dunno. He’s still my brother.”

“He’s a demon,” Younger Dean said incredulously.

“You knew,” Sam pointed out. “Look, you guys, you have me and Cas and Dean helping you right now. I know you all have been through some tough shit, but we’re trying to make sure nothing really bad happens to you.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” Younger Dean said.

“It should be,” Cas said dryly. “Just know that things can always get worse. Be on your guard.”

“Will do,” Bobby grunted.

“Castiel,” Sam said, and felt the gaze of the serious angel on him. “Anna’s going to leave here and you are not going to follow. She has Fallen, but you will not turn her in.”

“She is a criminal in the eyes of Heaven,” Castiel ground out. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed that Anna had gone, leaving behind only the wards to keep Castiel away from her.

“She did what she thought was right,” Sam corrected him. “She has gained free will. Your older self Fell for that same reason.”

Castiel looked at Cas. “I do not want to become him.”

Cas smiled bitterly. “I didn’t think you would,” he said. “But I saw the corruption in Heaven and I saw promise in the Winchesters.”

“You are human because of them,” Castiel snapped.

“I am free because of them,” Cas corrected. “I would Fall again for them, and again if needed. Because they are my family and they are worth it to me.”

“I still do not see why we Fell for humans,” Castiel said. Cas cracked another grin, this one with a touch of humor in it. 

“The sandwiches.” the Fallen angel deadpanned before wandering into the kitchen.

“He’s nuts,” Younger Dean said fondly.

Sam laughed. “Maybe a bit,” he said. “He was full on insane, at one point in time.”

“Why?” Sammy asked.

“He took it from me,” Sam said simply.

“Your Dean mentioned that earlier,” Sammy observed. “Along with . . . soulless-ness?”

“Ah,” Sam said.

“You didn’t mention that earlier.” Younger Dean shot him a glare.

“I didn’t want to,” Sam said. “Look, Dean, you had a clean, easy textbook-style resurrection from Hell. I didn’t. I was raised wrong. My mind and body were there but . . .”

“Your soul was missing,” Castiel said.

Sam winced. “I don’t like to think about it,” he admitted. “When I was reunited with my soul I went insane from the memories because . . . well, I was trapped in the Cage with two archangels who were very pissed off at me.”

There was silence.

“But,” Sam said. “That won’t happen here. We’re making sure of it. You’ll . . . you’ll be able to live your lives how you want it.”

“You’ve given me much to think about,” Castiel said. “Good luck returning to your time. If your Dean does not return with you, I will kill him myself.”

Sam said nothing, but watched the angel disappeared to the sound of wings.

“Well, that was almost a goodbye,” he muttered to himself.

“So,” Younger Dean said. “When are you leaving?”

Sam shrugged. “As soon as we can. I don’t want to stay here longer than I have to.” He grimaced apologetically. “We don’t belong here.”

“Nope.” Bobby muttered. “But we owe you thanks.”

Sam shrugged. “I guess. Anyone want a drink?”

To the chorus of agreements, Sam ducked into the kitchen. He grabbed a couple of bottles, raising an eyebrow at Cas who was buttering toast.

“The angels have gone,” Cas stated, looking towards the library.

“Yeah,” Sam said and hurried back into the room.

“So what are you going to do?” Sammy asked when Sam returned and handed out the drinks. “When you return?”

Sam shrugged. “Hunt,” he said. “Try to save Dean.”

“Even after all you’ve done?” Sammy asked. “When do you get to stop?”

“I’m not,” Sam said bluntly. “I think I’ve finally figured out that this is my life and I’m goin’ to keep it.”

“You’ve done your part,” Sammy protested.

“But . . . there’s still so much to do,” Sam said. “I can’t stop now.”

Cas nodded as he entered the room, toast clutched in his hand. “Dean may be a demon, and he may not feel like he used to, but he is still Dean Winchester,” he said. “He is still the Righteous Man, and there is a reason every angel and demon wanted him during the Apocalypse—he is powerful because of who he is. Dean may not be the exemplification of a human being—‘Indeed, there is no one on earth who is righteous, no one who does what is right and never sins’—but he is still family.”

“He’s a demon,” Sammy said.

“He’s family,” Sam echoed Cas. “I’m not giving up. Would you?”

". . . No," Sammy admitted.

“You said you weren’t sure the cure would work,” Younger Dean said. “What if it doesn’t?”

“I’m not going to stop,” Sam said. “I’ll keep looking.”

Younger Dean looked at him for a long moment, eyes searching and face stoic.

“I wish you luck, then,” he said at last, as if giving Sam his blessing to save himself.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam whispered.

***

Sam, Dean, and Cas left later that evening after Dean came back from killing angels and demons (though he avoided talking about Crowley when Sam asked, so Sam figured their past selves would have dealings with the King of the Crossroads.) 

Sam and Dean finally told Cas what they had worked out and agreed to the terms, stating that he, too, would do his best to help Dean.

They did not say goodbye to their younger selves.

Instead they drove out to the Bunker and entered the dusty rooms. Cas’ footsteps from his time here were evident in the dust, but he had left the place largely untouched. They spread out and began the spell to return them home. Sam chanted, because he was the best at it, apparently. When the last words of Latin fell from his lips, they sunk into darkness.

They woke up in their Bunker, and Dean disappeared almost immediately. Sam and Cas did not try and stop him. Instead they made sandwiches and discussed what hunt they should do next.

They chose a ghoul, and as Sam stabbed his brains out, he wondered again how he could save his Adam.

When they next saw Dean, they had already hunted three witches, a demon, a vampire nest, and a helped a new hunter with a particularly nasty ghost problem. 

Dean showed up they were trying to take down a Wendigo. Sam had lost the flamethrower, and Cas was bleeding from a head wound caused by being thrown into a tree. Dean appeared with a missile launcher and blasted the monster into tiny pieces.

He stayed with them after that.

They went on several more hunts before Dean finally allowed Sam to try and cure him.

Sam went through the same ritual, confessing his sins (this time he went through the whole list of things he regretted, but in the end felt lighter having spilled everything out) and injected Dean with his blood. Cas stood guard outside.

It didn’t work. Sam doubled checked, trying to see if he had missed a step, but could find nothing wrong. Dean was still a demon. Sam did not let that dampen his spirits and promised to look into it more. Dean once again disappeared.

Before he left he told Sam to take good care of the Impala.

Sam did.

They did not see him for three months, and in that time Cas and Sam managed to reverse the spell keeping Heaven locked up, getting his Grace back. He kept it in a little glass jar around his neck for backup. He’d expelled the stolen Grace. When Sam asked him why he didn't take in his own Grace, Cas told him he had grown fond of being human, and had decided to stay that way for now. He left Hanna in charge of Heaven, though she dropped in quite a bit to consult him on matters. After that was sorted out, they went and said goodbye to Kevin before the ghost departed for the last time.

Sam discovered that once he had let go of his doubts of being a hunter and embraced the life, he found that he did enjoy it, and that he had some semblance of happiness in saving people.

They still did not find out who or what sent Sam back. They couldn’t find a trace of magic, and no one claimed credit for the incident. Sam was fairly sure it wasn’t anyone from 2008, seeing as they all thought the Apocalypse would happen and Sam would really be Lucifer.

They stopped looking after a while.

Charlie came back about two month after the opening of Heaven. She had been split into two parts; Good Charlie and Dark Charlie. Sam, Cas, and Good Charlie tracked down Dark Charlie and reunited the two. Afterwards Charlie stayed at the Bunker for a few weeks, claiming that she’d had enough of an adventure for the time being and she’d missed most of the _Hobbit_ movies. She dragged Sam to the TV room most and they watched a lot of nerdy movies, eating popcorn and laughing.

Sam wished Dean was there. His older brother would have loved it.

Charlie left shortly after that to go see the world, but visited often. She finally asked where Dean was, her bags sitting on the ground next to her feet, her short red hair falling into her eyes. Sam finally looked at her for a long moment before sitting down and telling her what had happened. She was shocked, but told him to tell Dean she said hello. She promised to look into a way to cure him.

Then it happened.

Someone came back from the dead, which in and of itself wasn’t unexpected. That was a regular occurrence in the Winchester Life. No, it was who came back that shocked Sam.

Gabriel.

Cas had told Sam about Metatron’s ploy with the deceased archangel, but he had thought that it was all a lie. Until they caught wind of some strange murders. Gabriel had holed up in Roswell, New Mexico and was terrorizing some locals with aliens. When Sam and Cas showed up, the archangel was not surprised.

“I knew you two yahoos would find me,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. He invited them into a burger joint and after much needling told them how he survived.

“I was never dead in the first place,” he said while unwrapping a snickers bar. “Look, Luci may have taught me some tricks, but I lived as a pagan god for thousands of years. I got my own tricks to play.”

“So, what, you hid in Heaven?” Sam asked, thinking back to what the Gabriel Metatron made had told Cas.

Gabriel shrugged. “Best place,” he pointed out. “Right in the middle of the Deaths Star. Seriously, Metatron isn’t that creative. He just told the truth, with a bit of angelic magic thrown in.”

“So you Fell with the other angels,” Cas said. “Why did you not come to us?”

Gabriel cocked an eyebrow. “Look, I’m an archangel. We got our own tricks, and one of those tricks are back ways into Heaven that can’t be closed by a temp playing God.”

“So you went back to Heaven,” Cas clarified. “Leaving our brothers and sisters to fend for themselves.”

“Yep,” Gabriel said, popping the ‘p’. “Until, of course, that dick head Metatron got me. Locked me up ‘til I played hooky for him. Seriously, that guy likes to hear his own voice.”

“You’re telling me,” Sam grinned thinly. “So, what, you’re back with us?”

“Hells no!” Gabriel said. “I’m going back to delivering _Just Deserts_.”

“No!” Sam and Cas said at once. Gabriel blinked.

“Look, is there any way to help Dean?” Sam asked. Gabriel heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes.

“I got squat,” he said. “Go find another martyr. I’m not dying for you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Sam said. He hesitated for a second, eyeing the archangel. “Were . . . were you the one who sent me back?” he asked at last. “To the past. To 2008.”

Gabriel snapped a lollipop into existence. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Cas huffed a breath, but Sam plowed forward. “And why, hypothetically of course, would you do that?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Maybe to say sorry for not showin’ up with the last two apocalypses? For not helping with the first one sooner? Maybe because Dad willed the motivation in me? Pick and choose.”

Sam nodded and leaned back slowly. “You claiming credit?”

Gabriel smirked. “Nope!” he said cheerfully, and with that he disappeared.

They didn’t see him for two weeks.

When Gabriel finally popped in, he turned Sam into a moose, and only when Cas began threatening to hide the candy did he turn Sam back. When Sam was standing on two feet again, the archangel simply smirked and disappeared.

They didn’t see him again for a long time, and when they finally did he was still pulling more deadly _Just Deserts_. Sam and Cas looked at each other, hunted him down, and chewed him out. Gabriel promptly ignored them and went back to his Trickster ways.

Crowley showed up occasionally, to tell Sam and Cas that Dean was still alive. He didn’t stay long, probably guessing (correctly) that either hunter would happily gank him.

Sam asked about Adam and the Cage, but Crowley simply shook his head and was gone. Sam and Cas did not give up trying to free the younger Winchester, but there seemed to be no way to bust him out of the Cage without setting Lucifer and Michael free. Sam refused to admit defeat and continued to look, though he felt he would find nothing.

Sam went out with some girls a few times, but eventually got out of the dating scene, preferring to spend his time reading the Men of Letters archive or hunting with Cas.

Cas enjoyed learning about being human, and happily ate lots of PB &J sandwiches.

When Dean finally came back, it was to Sam, Cas, Jody, Alex, Charlie and Garth (along with his werewolf family who were on their best behavior) celebrating Christmas. They welcomed him back and teased each other and acted like family should. 

Last year, before the Time Travel Incident, their Christmas had been separate, alone, and dark. Not this year.

It was that Christmas that Sam excused himself from the celebrating and headed outside. Above the Bunker there was a hill, and on that hill there was a wide, flat rock with a view of the sky. Sam sat there, looking up with a beer in one hand and the other empty and supporting him. 

Below him he could almost imagine the laughter that resonated from the Bunker. When he had left, Garth and Charlie were competing in a sword fight, Charlie beating Garth thoroughly and with no little glee. Mrs. Tran had dropped by and was talking to Garth’s father-in-law about politics and his werewolf clan.

Dean was talking to Cas, trying to get the ex-angel drunk on rum balls.

Above Sam a shooting star flew past, and Sam wondered if it was a Falling angel. Most angels had gone back to Heaven, but found that they had liked Earth better and had Fallen or left. Cas kept track of some of them, but overall Heaven was more at peace with itself than it had been in a long time.

“Thinkin’ hard?” Dean’s voice asked. Sam turned to see his brother standing in the cold, looking down on him.

Sam shrugged. “Nah, not too hard,” he said. “What’s up?”

Dean flopped down next to him. “Think I’ll ever be cured?”

“We’re not giving up,” Sam said. “I’m not. I promised.”

“You seem happier,” Dean said. “Maybe me stayin’ away was a good thing.”

“It isn’t,” Sam said. “I just . . . let things go.”

Dean looked up at the sky. “How’d you mean?”

“I just accepted that this was my life and lived it,” Sam said simply. “By the way,” he dug a small package out of his pocket, holding it expectantly out to Dean, who took it reluctantly. “Merry Christmas.”

“What is it?” Dean asked.

Sam smiled sadly. “Last time it was a gesture of trust. Maybe . . . maybe this time it’s a promise and a sign of hope.”

Dean unwrapped it slowly to reveal a small box, and inside that box was a familiar black cord with a golden horned head. Dean looked at it for a long while, face turned away from Sam.

Sam cleared his throat. “I couldn’t just leave it,” he said. “So I hid it and buried it. If you don’t want it back, I understand. But please don’t throw it away. Let me bury it again.”

Dean bowed it head. “A promise,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Of—of hope.”

Dean looked at the little golden amulet and slowly lowered the cord over his head where it came to rest on his heart.

“I can deal with a promise,” Dean said in a muffled voice. “And I could use a little hope.”

“I think we all could,” Sam said. “To our new life?” he asked and held out a hand for Dean.

Dean stared at it. “Why do you want this life?” he asked. “Look what it did to us.”

“It’s the only life we really know,” Sam replied. “And, well, you know the pay is crap and the life insurance and health care suck, but I remember what this life really means.”

“What’s that?” Dean asked quietly.

“Saving people and hunting things,” Sam said. “We save lives. Yeah, they’re gonna die someday, but they’re alive now and they can keep on living and maybe help make the world a better place. And that, to me, is worth it.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Dean said, taking Sam’s hand and giving it a firm shake. “I’d forgotten.”

“Yeah,” Sam said as they let go, his hand returning to his lap. “Me too.”

Maybe they would find a cure for Dean, one day, but for now things were looking good. Things were finally going back to what the story started out as—a story about two brothers and the life they shared and the people they saved.

_“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”  
—J.R.R Tolkien_

_The End_


End file.
